
BooklOa/3 



'RESENTED BY 



-CLsUs < 



POEMS 



BY 



CHARLES J. COLTON 

I! 



EDITED AND COMPILED BY 
HIS WIFE 



19 16 



PS3S05- 
,©313 



i '-■ 



PRESS OF 

LOUISIANA PRINTING CO. Ltd 

NEW ORLEANS. LA 



Irw 



TO THE 

NIECES AND NEPHEWS 

WHOM 

UNCLE CHARLIE 

LOVED 

TENDERLY, TRULY AND CONSTANTLY 

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 



INTRODUCTION 



Charles J. Colton wrote of his favorite poet, James 
Whitcomb Riley, that 

"Ye must be er big-hearted person 
Ter write in th' way ye hev writ, 

An' there's so much o' good in yer versin' 
Thet o' badness ye kaint hev er bit," 

and in so doing revealed the keynote of his own life. 
"Big-heartedness" was his chief characteristic. His 
poems breathe the spirit of good-fellowship, of love for 
mankind, while those written to and for children are 
alive with that tender, sympathetic feeling which en- 
deared him to the boys and girls of his acquaintance and 
which earned for him the loved title of "Uncle 
Charlie." 

Charles J. Colton, journalist, poet, essayist, lawyer 
and court reporter, was born in New Orleans, La., Sept. 
14, 1868, and died in that city Jan. 17, 19 16. For twelve 
years he served as court reporter of the Civil District 
Court of New Orleans. He was connected with the 
New Orleans Times-Democrat for many years, editing 
the "All Sorts" column, and \was also editor of Colton' s 
Magazine. 

Mr. Colton was passionately fond of children, and 
his life was made beautiful by the warmth and genuine- 
ness of their love for him. He served as a member of 
the Board of Education from Dec. 1, 1904, until his 
death. During that time he labored unceasingly with 
a deep and abiding interest and enthusiasm for the 
improvement of the public school system, and earned the 
unbounded confidence, respect and esteem of citizens, 



patrons, teachers and pupils. Every progressive move- 
ment in behalf of the schools and the children of the 
community found Charles J. Colton among the leaders. 

Mr. Colton published "A Volume of Various Verse" 
in 1899, but this publication had a limited sale and is 
now out of print. The greater number of poems ap- 
pearing in that work are reproduced in this volume, with 
some poems hitherto unpublished in book form. 

As an appreciation of the poetry of Mr. Colton. the 
following, written by his friend, Henry Rightor, as an 
introduction to the "Volume of Various Verse," is re- 
printed : 

"The name of Charles J. Colton, subscribed to verses 
in various newspapers of this country, notably in the 
New Orleans Times-Democrat, has, for a number of 
years, attracted the widest attention and furnished to 
a great body of readers the 'most genuine enjoyment. 
That these verses have struck the popular chord is at- 
tested by the extent to which they have been reproduced. 
Bridget, bringing in the early breakfast, has been equally 
careful \o 'bring in the morning paper, and, like as not, 
the first thing turned to was the head of the "All Sorts" 
column, wherein most of the shorter verses have ap- 
peared and where the searcher might be sure to find 
some whimsical fancy dancing to the lilting measure 
our poet knows so well. 

"That man who may speak to the people in the lan- 
guage they understand — singing to them sweetly and 
simply and truly — turning the whole world over and 
over, smiling at this, laughing at that, lulling tenderly 
this theme, and pathetically that — investing the whole, 
strange, 'inconceivable mystery 'df .'life, /its common- 
places and its ideals, with the pleasant color of a gentle, 
honest mind — that man is far on the road toward poetry 
as it is measured in the hearts of men and women. Such 
is Charles J. Colton, and would that you all knew him 



as this friend does, feeling the warm currents of his 
simple, boyish, joyous, optimistic nature; such is 
Charles j. Colton, and may the Fates rock him tenderly 
for all the pleasure his verses have brought to our 
world-worn hearts and weary brains !" 

And the friends of Charles J. Colton — and they are 
legion — echoed at his death the sentiment he himself 
had spoken when Eugene Field was taken away : 

"Lay him down gently 

Him whose refrain 
Spoke eloquently 

Not to the brain 
Not to man's reasoning 

Mission of art — 
But with love's seasoning, 

Straight to the heart." 

NICHOLAS BAUER. 
New Orleans, 
December, 1916. 



vii 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



Page 

Introduction V 

To My Baby Boy 1 

To Lucile 2 

Many of Him 2 

That Little Girl of Mine 3 

Alone With the Baby 5 

To Lucile 7 

When We iMoved 8 

The Ghost 9 

The Tattle-Tale-Tit 10 

Method In It 11 

A Misunderstanding 11 

An Upward Message 12 

My Neighbor's Boy • 13 

Two Sovereigns 14 

To a Dead Cat 15 

Those 'Children at Allain's 16 

My Home-Bred Sister 18 

Just a Little Play 19 

At the Piano • 20 

Playing "Fait" 20 

A Difference of Opinion 22 

Thought Provoking 22 

Two Flowers 23 

The Land of Nod 24 

A Valentine to My Wife 24 

A Smart Kid 25 

In the Wrong Direction 26 

Into the Future . . 27 

In Flagrante Delictu 29 

The Patent Unbreakable Doll 30 

Discriminates 31 

Wise by Experience 32 

Speaking from Experience 32 

ix 



Table of Contents- — Continued. 

Page 

As He Understood His Instructions 33 

Proof Positive 33 

An Infantile Soliloquy 34 

Woman's Way 36 

A Soul-Felt Wish , 36 

A Dove Letter 37 

Dauntless 'Courage 38 

iMy Baby's Overheard .Soliloquy 39 

Three Armoirs 39 

Costly 40 

When I Was but Twenty and Two . , 41 

An Anxious Appeal 42 

Retrospection 43 

How My Wife Broke the News . 44 

Puzzling . . . 45 

Interrupted Reflections 46 

Since Wife Came Home 47 

Judah Touto ( 48 

Mark and Lucile 49 

My Little Friends 51 

Fooled 52 

The Circus Parade • 53 

The First Ball 54 

An Open Letter 54 

The Other Kind of Groom 55 

To a Dissatisfied School Boy 56 

A Meeting of the Birds .. . 57 

The Transformation 58 

Circumstances Alter Cases r 59 

The Burial of the Archbishop . 61 

War Among the Books 62 

Which It Did , 63 

Trouble in the Parlor 64 

Cause and Effect 65 

Riley • 66 

The Kitchen Free-For-All 67 

Bill Nye . . .' 68 

Where His Bravery Forsook Him 69 



Table of Contents — Continued. 

Page 

In Memoriam 70 

The Fashionable Wedding 70 

Archbishop Janssens 71 

Eugene Field 72 

Erbout Riley 73 

He Had No Hard Feelings 74 

A Plea for Miss Key 74 

Died at the Throttle 76 

To Little Kathleen 77 

To Little Ethel Luce 78 

Bertie Sneed 79 

To Ella Bentley, Jr 80 

An Acknowledgment 83 

Little Watson iSkardon Daubert 84 

To Corbett 85 

Jim Riley 86 

To Little Alice Lazarus 87 

A Dream , 88 

To Riley 8 9 

Something Wrong 89 

To Eugene Field 90 

To a Girl Graduate 91 

To Stanley Matthews Lazarus 92 

An Easter Carol 93 

A New Year's Wish 93 

To Little Eldon Lazarus 94 

To Amelie Fortier, Emma Benedic, and Louise Piseros 95 

Three Little Maids 96 

A ze Mademoiselle Eve 9 7 

To Little Emma 98 

Christmas Tide 9 9 

To Two Principals . v 100 

That Awful Name of Mine 101 

To Sidney Heineman 102 

To Edna 103 

To Marie , 104 

The New Orleans Girl 105 

The Girl of Long Ago 106 

Kentucky Girl 107 

xi 



Table of Contents — Continued. 

, Page 

Ye iBicycle Maid 108 

The Old-Fashioned Woman 109 

The Bloomer Girl 112 

Ye Maid of Olden Time 113 

John Mc Donogh 113 

To Lindamira . , 114 

Ye Summer Girl . 115 

Why the Waves Were Sad 115 

My Girl in the Ballet 116 

The New Woman 117 

The Sweet Girl Graduate 118 

Independent . 120 

To the (Slangy Girl 121 

To the Telephone Girl 122 

Gals 123 

To the Ballet Girl 124 

To the New Woman 125 

To the Newoomb Girl 125 

That Cake 126 

To the Skirt Dancer 127 

To the Poster Girl 127 

Business Like 127 

Were I a Woman 128 

The .Scholastic Maid 129 

Were I a Woman • 130 

The Fellow Behind the Blue Pencil. 131 

The Fellow Who Has Seen the Play Before 132 

A Woman's Despair 133 

To the "Q and A" Man 134 

The Jolly Plumber 135 

To the Hello Man 136 

The Boys the Girls Like 137 

The Man With a Mission 138 

The Undertaker's Soliloquy 139 

From the Bibliomanic 140 

Male Preferences 140 

As if There Were Female Men 141 

Their Luck . 142 

To the Tailor 142 

xii 



Table of Contents — Continued. 

Page 

From the Coal Dealer 142 

A Resourceful Fellow 143 

A Matter of Names 144 

That Life Insurance Man 145 

The Man Who Knows It All 146 

A New Year Gift . • 148 

A Christmas Soliloquy 149 

From a Victim 149 

To the Visiting Miliary 150 

The Carnival 151 

De Fourt' and de Fift' 155 

Valedictory 156 

At the Masked Ball 157 

The Fourth of July 158 

An Apology for the Fourth 160 

Our Natal Day 161 

April Fool's Day 162 

Where the Worm Turned 163 

St. Valentine's Day 164 

'Twixt Heart and Stomach 165 

A New Year Pledge 165 

Cause for Indifference . . 166 

He Had Been There Before 167 

The Day We Celebrate . 167 

Just About This Time 168 

With Reference To a Turkey 169 

Overheard Orisons 170 

A Christmas Carol 171 

Christmas Thoughts 172 

A Puzzle to Tommy 173 

A Stratagem 174 

A Few Things About the Alphabet 175 

Financial Item 17 6 

Alphabetical Preferences 177 

To the Letter "R" 177 

As to the Y 178 

A Letter to iSal 179 

Along the Bogue Falaya 181 

The Un-Ky-nd Pa • . 182 

xiii 



Table of Contents — Continued. 

Page 

Spring 183 

To the River 184 

With Autumn's Coming 185 

The River 187 

How It Was Figured Out 188 

10-tatively 188 

On the Teche . 189 




xiv 



♦♦. Jlaems — 



TO MY BABY BOY 

When baby's eyes first open 

In the early morning light, 
I go to himi, and, peering 

Down in those orbs so bright, 
I ask, "Where's papa's baby?" 

With such a roguish air 
His hand will tap his bosom, 

As he answers me, 

"Wight dare." 

"Where are the little angels 

That played with you, my boy, 
As in your dre'ams you wandered 

Last night in realms of joy?" 
He seems to comprehend me; 

Straight upward in the air 
One chubby ringer's pointing, 

As the answer comes, 

"Wight dare." 

Along on through the daytime, 

When dirt, from head to foot, 
Encrusts his form and features, 

The question I will put, 
"Where is one clean spot, baby, 

On that face anywhere?" 
He points up to his forehead 

And answers me, 

"Wight dare." 

And when the years go winging, 

And his time comes to die, 
Among the angels singing 



In bliss beyond the sky, 
O Ruler of the Heavens 

I beg Thee hear miy prayer, — 
See to it, in Thy goodness, 

That my darling is 

"Wight dare." 



TO IiUCILE 

Three years, nearly, since you came, dear, 
From the realms of light above 

To your fond and happy father — 
Dearest pledge of mother's love. 

How those years have quickly speeded, 
Brightened by your lovely self — 

Clouds on father's pathway vanish, 
Laughing, dancing little elf! 

Sweet it is, when in the evening, 
Father's footsteps homeward roam, 

To hear you whisper: "Darlin' papa, 
Fse so glad dat you's come home !" 

At the hour of eight, each evening, 
In your bed tucked snug and warm, 

May the angels guard you, darling, 
And protect you from all harm. 



MANY OF HIM 

I've heard tell of the yellow kid, yes, time and time again, 
A famous little fellow and well known unto all men; 
And as I hear the squalling of my twenty-month-old son, 
I imagine I have forty yeller kids rolled into one. 



THAT LITTLE GIRL OF MINE 

As I sit in peaceful quiet, at the closing of the day, 

And Watch my little daughter with the neighbors' chil- 
dren play, 

While my wife sits close beside me, in her basket rocking 
chair, 

And enjoys with me to gaze upon the babies romping 
there, 

I can feel the cares of business from my worried mind 
depart, 

And a glow of glad contentment warms the cockles of 
my heart, 

As I see the curling ringlets and the eyes that brightly 
shine, 

And hear the pealing laughter of that little girl of mine. 

What a ruddy, healthy color to her cheek her playing 

brings ! 
Now she starts a recitation or a snatch of song she sings 
In the little childish treble that to mje has sweeter grown 
Than the melody of Nilsson or the Patti's soaring tone 
What a world of sweetness to me have the childish ac- 
cents had 
Since the day those lips so rosy learned to softly whisper 

"Dad," 
And we thought it truly wondrous in a babe whose 

months were nine, 
And that no smarter child existed than that little girl of 
mine ! 

Now a whispered consultation, then she climbs upon my 

knee, 
And tells me that they'd like to play at hide-and-seek 

with me. 
How vainly do I strive to tell her no and raise a frown ! 

— 3 — 



But her comrades join her pleading, and I lay my old 

pipe down, 
And rise up from my rocker, and responsive to their call, 
Soon I'm playing "fate" and "catcher" and the wildest 

of them all * 
Yet I don't regret the comfort that she forced to resign, 
As I chase the flying footsteps of that little girl of mine, 

Now the children all are going ; it is getting late, I think ; 
The curly head is nodding and the eyes begin to blink, 
For upon his nightly mission the old sandman starts to 

creep, 
To visit all the babies and send them off to sleep. 
So I press her to my bosom, as she softly says "good- 

night," 
And place her, locked in slumber, in the bed so clean 

and white; 
And I even kiss the mattress where the rounded limbs 

recline, 
And invoke the care of angels o'er this little girl of mine. 

And when old Time has speeded, and I near the close 

of life, 
And my little daughter's grown into a mother and a 

wife, 
As I sit around her fireside, with her children at my 

knee, 
And tell them what a comfort their dear mother was 

to me, 
Though her features are maturer and her form of youth- 
ful grace 
Has grown to stately womanhood, yet memory will 

efface 
The lengthy intervening years, and my fond thoughts 

will incline 
To the days when all I called her was that little girl of 

mine. 

— 4 — 



ALONE WITH THE BABY 

Yes, go and see your mother, wife; the boy can stay 

with me, 
You needn't worry about him ; he's as good as he can be. 
He won't be any trouble ; but if he is, why then, 
I'll put his bottle in his mouth, and he'll be still again. 

Good-by ! Give ma mjy dearest love. You say you'll be 

back soon? 
Don't hurry yourself up at all; stay all the afternoon. 
She's gone. It's simply foolish to think a man like me 
Can't take care of a baby that's as good and sweet as he. 

Go do-do, little darling. Your papa's standing near; 
He'll take good care of you, love; so sleep, my little dear. 
S — sh, s — sh. You precious baby, now don't get bad, I 

pray. 
You're quite too young to realize that mamma's gone 

away. 

Now hush up, boy ! If I were you I wouldn't cry out so. 
You want papa to take you and rock you to and fro? 
Well, come, my own sweet baby, and lie down in my lap, 
While papa sings a little song and teaches you to clap. 

Well, now I'm rocking, baby, why don't you hush your 

cries ? 
That's just a little temper, not a tear is in his eyes. 
Here, loved one, is your bottle. Gee! How that kid 

can roar! 
He shoves the bottle from his mouth and bellows more 

and more. 

— 5 — 



Perhaps, poor boy, it's colic. I wonder where's the gin. 
Ah! here it is. 'Twill cure him, and hush that awful 

din. 
Take your "meddy," darling. Now go right off to sleep. 
My God! that baby's yelling just makes my flesh to 

creep. 

I'll walk him up and down awhile, and see if that 

won't do. 
Hush up, you little devil, I feel like licking you. 
Hush up ! Hush up ! Confound you ! Are you going 

to yell all day? 
Great God ! I'll be a maniac if he keeps it up that way. 

His mpther ought to have more sense than to leave him 

here with me. 
Hush up, sir! What a nuisance a little babe can be! 
You wretch, if you were older, you know what I would 

do? 
I'd fix you, sir. I'd spank you till you were black and 

blue. 

There, lie down in your cradle and yell, you torment, 

you! 
H — 1 ! I can't stand this racket. What the dickens can 

I do? 
If this keeps up much longer my hair'll be turning gray, 
I'll bet the people hear his yells for twenty miles away. 

There's some one coming in the door. Thank heaven, 

it's my wife. 
You just came back in time, my dear, to save your 

infant's life. 
I've used persuasion vainly, and would soon have called 

in force — 
And if I'm left with him again I'll sue for a divorce. 

— 6 — 



TO LUCILE 

My little girl is lying 

Upon her pillow white, 
With angels round her flying, 

Though hid from mortal sight. 
One hand, with outstretched finger, 

Lies softly on her breast, 
As lovingly I linger 

O'er my darling in her nest. 

The smiles are running riot 

Across her rosy face, 
That knows no hour of quiet 

Throughout the daylight's space ; 
And now and then comes fleeting 

A look so glad, it seems 
As if she hears the greeting 

Of angels in her dreams. 

The eyes, that in the daytime 

Are seldom filled with tears, 
That sparkle in the playtime 

Which with the morn appears, 
Are closed in tired sleeping, 

That knows no halt or break 
Until the dawn comes creeping 

To bid my love awake. 

May Heaven let me keep her 

Until these locks are gray, 
And may the ruthless reaper 

For years remain away; 
May some among the number 

Of cherubs round God's shrine, 
Always watch o'er her slumber — 

This little girl of mine. 



WHEN WE MOVED 

We moved, you know, the other day, 

In years of married life 
I never had found out before 

I'd such a wondrous wife. 
The moving men were out and out 

As careless as could be; 
And the way they threw our things about 

Was terrible to see. 

In the morn, a sharp and breaking crack 

Resoundingly we heard — 
Some twenty-dollar bric-a-brac — 

My wife said not a word; 
But in a moment more she cried 

With the full force of her lungs, 
"Here, please sir, do be careful of 

My brand new curling tongs." 

They next let our piano fall 

Upon a Dresden vase ; 
My wife looked Calm throughout it all, 

No anger on her face; 
But, smash ! and baby's bottle on 

The floor in fragments lay; 
And my knees shook at the wrath and scorn 

She thereat did display. 

They broke our full-length mirror, and 

She bore a cheerful mien; 
And a costly parlor lamp and stand — • 

Her brow remained serene; 
No frown came when those vandals gave 

My bookcase awful knocks; 
But, lordy me, how she did rave 

When they dropped her powder box ! 

— 8 — 



THE GHOST 

"Do I love thee? Ask the song bird, twittering forth 

his gladsome lay, 
If he loves the balmy woodland in the merry month of 

May. 

"Do I love thee? Ask the seagull if he loves the wave- 
lets' foam; 

Ask the eaglet, soaring skyward, if he loves his craggy 
homfe. 

"Do I love thee? Ask the mother if she loves her own 

first-born ; 
Ask the lark that carols gayly if he loves the dawning 

morn. 

"Do I love thee? Ask the infant if it loves the mother's 

face ; 
Ask the gently nodding flowers if they love the sun's 

embrace. 

"Do I love thee? Not in words, dear, can my love ex- 
pression find ; 

/ but know thou art my world, dear, that each heart beat 
is all thine." 

So I wrote the gentle maiden in the days of auld lang 

syne, 
This but one of many follies from this foolish pen of 

mine. 

And I thought I'd ne'er more see it, till it was, on yes- 
terday, 

In her suit for breach of promise, filed and marked 
"Exhibit A." 

—9 — 



THE TATTIiE-TAIiE-TIT 

Did you ever hear tell of the Tattle-Tale-Tit, 

Who sits up aloft in the trees, 
And whatever he hears, repeats every bit, 

And likewise tells all that he sees; 
When children are naughty, this birdie gets mad, 
And little ones often have found, 
Both lassie and lad, 
'Twon't do to be bad 
When the Tattle-Tale-Tit is around. 

Two little sisters may have a big fight, 
And pinch one another's arms blue; 
And when it's all over, they think it's all right. 
'Cause no one was there but they two ; 
But there they'll be making an error, I ween, 
For this birdie the branches amid 

Through the window has seen 
Their actions so mean, 
And will tell papa all that they did. 

Or a little boy may kick his heels on the floor, 

And go on at a terrible pace, 
May scratch and may quarrel and struggle and roar, 

'Cause mamma is washing his face; 
And one thing is certain, depend on my word ! 
The story of baby's bad fit 
By pa will be heard 
Through that mischievous bird 
That is known as the Tattle-Tale-Tit. 

And so I would give a wee bit of advice 

To each little lassie and lad ; 
It's monotonous, very, to always be nice, 

But whenever you want to be bad, 

— io — 



First shut all the windows and all the doors tight, 
And leave not the tiniest slit 

For your quarrel or fight 

To come to the sight 
Of that terrible Tattle-Tale-Tit. 



METHOD IN IT 

You're getting very good to me, 

My wife; 
You're making pleasant as can be 

My life; 
Though still I scatter things around, 
At which of old you've fussed and frowned, 
You raise, to my surprise profound, 

No strife. 

In fact, I note for the past week, 

My dear, 
You more than usually meek 

Appear ; 
Your kindliness is most sublime — 
The cause, I'd bet my last cold dimle, 
Is that the Easter bonnet time 

Is here. 



A MISUNDERSTANDING 

I know that I told you "bye-bye," little wife, 

On yester, when uptown you sped; 
But I greatly am fearing, O light of my life ! 

That you misconstrued what I said; 
For, to judge by the bills handed to me to-day 

For things you invested in, I 
Feel certain that you, in your innocent way, 

Understood me to tell you "buy, buy." 

— II — 



AN UPWARD MESSAGE 

There is a little boy downtown, a telephone likewise; 
He watched the lineman put it up, with wonder-stricken 

eyes, 
And when he heard them use the thing, still more his 

wonder grew 
That they could talk to distant folks, that thing so funny 

through ; 
So he evolved some ideas peculiarly his own 
Regarding the capacity of that same telephone, 
And t'other eve, while dining, we heard the little cuss 
In the front room, at the telephone, and talking some- 
what thus : 

"Hello, 'Change, dimme Dod! Hello, Dod, dat you? 
Dis is me, Dod; how yo' feel, Dod? T'ank yo', me well, 

too. 
I kin spell, Dod, pretty well, Dod; p-i-e spells pie, 
C-a-t, cat; r-a-t, rat; well, den, Dod, dood-bye." 

I wonder what the telephone girl at the other end 
Thought when she heard that little voice that funny 

message send; 
And while I know Jehovah has a lot of things to do 
As He sits on His shining throne up yonder in the blue, 
With all the cares of all the worlds He rules upon His 

mind, 
Yet who can positively say a moment He won't find 
To put aside some other things and hearken to the tone 
Of that wee little laddie, coming through the telephone : 

"Hello, 'Change, dimme Dod ! Hello, Dod, dat you ? 
Dis is me, Dod; how yo' feel, Dod? T'ank yo', me well, 

too. 
I kin spell, Dod, pretty well, Dod; p-i-e spells pie, 
C-a-t, cat; r-a-t, rat; well, den, Dod, dood-bye." 

— 12 — 



MY NEIGHBOR'S BOY 

My neighbor has an infant with a very fiery head, 

A little boy, and since whose birth not many years have 

sped; 
His name is Bert, or Bertie — but the place where he 

does stay 
I won't tell, for fear you might go steal him off some 

day. 
I know temptation would be great to steal a boy like 

this, 
And how his parents' hearts would break if some day 

him they'd miss; 
So I won't tell, although I know that vastly you'd enjoy 
A chat on any subject with my neighbor's red head boy. 

He will use the queerest language and the strangest sort 

of tone, 
And with a grave demeanor that's entirely his own ; 
And with kindest condescension, he will let you gaze 

upon 
The things that Santa brought him on the joyful 

Christmas morn. 
He will point out, if you ask him, with his fingers and 

his thumbs, 
The very selfsame chimney down which gray old Santa 

comes ; 
He's a chunky bunch of mischief, he's a trouble and a 

joy, 

He's a little mass of wisdom, is my neighbor's red head 
boy. 

When I pass there in the morning how it makes my 

heart rejoice 
To hear him call my name out in his weak and childish 

voice ; 

— 13 — 



He'll coming running to the doorway when he sees me 
going by, 

And if I pass without speaking how the anger lights 
his eye. 

He's his papa's dearest idol and his mamma's cruel boss, 

And there's naught in earth or heaven that could recom- 
pense his loss; 

He's a diadem of brightness, he's a pearl without alloy; 

He's the pride of all the household, is my neighbor's 
red head boy. 

And soon he'll grow to manhood, soon will mingle 

in the strife 
That ever wages fiercely 'round the onward road of 

life; 
May the great God, in His wisdom and the power that 

He hath, 
Keep him from all temptation ; keep him straight in 

Virtue's path. 
May his years be ever cloudless, may the darkness never 

come; 
May he never know the anguish that strikes others' 

bosoms numb; 
May he never be Sin's victim, nor Vice's willing toy ; 
May the angels ever watch and guard my neighbor's 

red head boy. 

TWO SOVEREIGNS 

My heart's but a divided throne ; 

Two queens sit regnant there, 
Yet neither cares to rule alone, 

Nor wants the other's share; 
No hatred glooms their lives around, 

They know not envy's pain, 
But gentle peace and joy abound 

Beneath their dual reign. 

— 14— , 



You say that never woman was 

On earth as these so meek, 
And wonder much why neither does 

To oust her rival seek ; 
But it is plain to understand 

Why twixt them there's no strife, 
For one's my little daughter, and 

The other is my wife. 



TO A DEAD CAT 

So thou art dead, fair, fondest cat, 
Whom more than horse or dog 

I loved, for wert thou not the best 
In nature's cat-alogue? 

No matter what hour came I home, 
Thou never showed'st surprise; 

Nor reasons for my being late 
Wouldst ever cat-echize. 

While, were I wed, my staying out 
Would meet with criticism 

From angry wife, and I've no doubt 
Of tears a cat-aclysm. 

And now the cat-enation long 
Death breaks twixt thee and me ; 

And I am left alone to weep 
O'er this cat-astrophe. 

So, good-bye — since a cat-acomb 
Must hold thy youth and grace, 

The motto I place o'er thy grave 
Is u Requies-cat in pace !" 

— 15 — 



THOSE CHILDREN AT ALLAIN'S 

I wish I had the pencil of the late lamented Field, 

Or the quills of Whitcomjb Riley, so that I could duly 

yield 
The meed of fullest justice to the subject of my song; 
But, still, I'll try to do the best I can to get along.... 
I am singing of a healthy little potpourri of kid 
Out yonder in old Covington, the piny woods amid, 
And I need some inspiration to dilate in gentle strains 
Upon that crowd of children that are stopping at 

Allain's 

There's merry, blackeyed Mimi Jung, a madcap little 

maid, 
And her sweet sister Inez, who's so sober and so staid; 
There's pretty little Lisette Oehmichen, with eyes so 

bright, 
And who's ever meek and gentle, all those naughty boils 

despite ; 
There's Master Harold Colton and his comrade, Henry 

Pier, 
Who'll daily find some trouble to get into, never fear ! 
For the genius of mischief fullest mastery obtains 
Among the crowd of children that are stopping at 

Allain's 

There's curly Mary Brockway, a miss demure of three, 
Who likes to show the treasures she possesses unto me; 
There's handsome Rene Chauvin, who's but fifteen 

months in all, 
Who thinks that five a. m. is the proper time to call. 
There's Willie Pier and Elsie (she's his sister), who have 

quite 
Enraptured all the household with their cake walks 

every night, 

— 16 — 



For thoughts of having lots of fun alone disturb the 

brains 
Of those cheery little, merry little children at Allain's. 

There's Mam-selle Lucile Colton, a wise young miss, I 
vow, 

The weight of whose nine happy years bears lightly on 
her brow ; 

There's Mrs. Pier's Cornelia (for short they call her 
Nell), 

Whose pinkish ears will never fail to catch the dinner 
bell; 

There's Bubele, not least, though last, whose ever-ready 
smile, 

Illumining his chubby little features all the while, 

Fills all the house with sunshine, though outside per- 
chance it rains — 

And he completes the catalogue of children at Allain's. 

Every evening, after supper, when the shades begin to 

fall, 
They create pandemonium in the precincts of the hall, 
But without sign of quarrel, for among these girls and 

boys 
There's not a bit of rivalry, except in making noise, 
At the which they're all past masters — Bedlaml's not a 

circumstance ; 
Those kids will beat it hollow if you give them half a 

chance ; 
Still, the grown folk never mind it, and there's no one 

that complains 
Of those healthy, hearty, happy little children at Allain's. 



— 17 — 



MY HOME-BRED SISTER 

I have read with pain and horror 
Your sad tale of woe and sorrow, 

With regard to your fair sister, who's a college 
graduate 
Though your story but enhances 
My joy at the circumstances 

Which surround and make me happy, as I following 
will relate. 

Like you, I have a sister — 
(Just this moment I have kissed her 
For a little act of kindness, in which acts she does 

excel). 
She has never been in college, 
She has very little knowledge, 
And, indeed, I'm very fearful that she don't know how 

to spell. 

She could not indite a poem, 

As for Kant, she doesn't know him, 

And of Browning, Herschel, Ibsen, she has never 
heard at all; 
But she makes a lovely biscuit, 
Cooks a splendid steak or brisket, 

And her coffee's like the nectar served in Jove's great 
dining-hall. 

Of the story of our nation, 
She has little information; 
With regard to rules of grammar she is in an awful 
plight ; 
But her doughnuts are delicious, 
As are all her fancy dishes, 

And the tea she makes for supper would convert an 
anchorite. 

— 18 — 



Figures are to her a myst'ry, 

She knows naught of ancient hist'ry, 

And her geographical learning you can safely state as 
nil; 
But her smile is bright and cheery, 
When I come home worn and weary, 

And mly dinner's always ready when I step across the 
sill. 

I would be quite happy, only, 
I'm afraid she'll leave me lonely, 

If some day to love and marriage she should happen 
to incline; 
And 'twould be but human nature, 
Were I jealous of the creature 

Who would take from me the happiness that presently 
is mine. 



JUST A LITTLE PLAY 

It really would grieve me to do it, 

It is awful to take such recourse, 
But I swear that the next time it happens 

I'll enter a suit for divorce. 
I came home from work t'other evening, 

My kids had my lexicon out, 
And were jumping from one part to the other 

As they lay on the carpet about. 
Now, I really am fond of my "Century," 

Tis a fine set and well bound in calf, 
And the way that I lit on those children 

Scarce gave them occasion to laugh; 
And kindness' milk in my bosom 

At my wife's reproach turned into curds, 
For she told me I oughtn't to whip them 

For a mild little play upon words. 

— 19 — 



AT THE PIANO 

Do, ra, mi, fa, sol de roily, go the fingers of Miss Polly, 
O'er^ the keyboard with a gentle and a captivating 
sound ; 
Do, ra, mi, fa, sol de roily — in an ecstacy of folly, 
The little hand I'm clutching as I kneel upon the 
ground, 
"Ma, ra, mi, o fa Miss Polly, else I die of melancholy," 
My pleading voice goes floating through the circum- 
nambient air; 
Do, ra, mi, fa, sol de roily — "Don't you be a fool, you 
Cholly," 
Comes the answer of Miss Polly, and I slink off in 
despair. 



PLAYING "FAIT" 

"Come, let's play 'fait,' my son," unto my little boy I'll 

say. 
Then he goes and hides himself in quite the ostrich sort 

of way; 
For he thinks when he is facing to the wall, with tight- 
shut eyes, 
Because he can't see papa, papa can't see him likewise. 
Then a very eager, anxious tone of voice will I assume, 
As I make believe I'm searching every corner of the 

room, 
Till at last I chance to find him, where he's standing 

there so straight; 
Oh, there's a lot of fun with baby 

when 

we 
play 

"fait." 

— 20 — 



Then comes my turn for hiding, and I go behind the 

door, 
While he hides his eyes in mamma's lap; and "Fait!" 

I'll loudly roar, 
Of course, he comes right to me, guided by my noisy 

voice, 
And at finding me so quickly, lordy, how he does rejoice. 
"Me find papa," he'll crow in glee, while I pretend I'm 

mad 
At the awful luck I've had to choose a hiding place so 

bad; 
And so we keep the game up till the clock tells me it's 

late— 
There's so -much fun with baby 

when 

we 

play 

"fait." 

Now, I've had as much sport in my life as others, I 

suppose ; 
At circuses and pantomimes and theaters and shows, 
On fishing trips and hunting jaunts, and many a sailing 

cruise ; 
But if I now were called upon by anyone to choose 
And say in which direction I have found more solid joy 
In all the years that I've passed since I was a little boy, 
I feel certain I'd not for a moment hesitate to state 
That my best fun was with baby 

when 
we 

played 

"fait." 



21 — 



A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 

My wife says our baby's a wonder 

At talking, but quite entre nous, 
The one blessed thing that I ever 

Did hear that kid say was "Goo." 
His ma will ask, "Who's mamma's baby?" 

And "Goo" comes the infant's reply; 
And she'll swear he's the cunningest creature 

To use the grammjatical "I." 

Then she'll ask "Where is mamma's boy going?" 

There's a "Goo," and in ectasy she 
Calls the fact to my earnest attention 

He said "down stairs" as plain as could be. 
And "What is the itty man after?" 

To my ears a "Goo" loudly doth come, 
But I don't to my thought give expression 

For my wife says he surely said "drum." 

And again, "Is my itty boy seepy?" 

Again is the plastic "Goo" sped; 
But my wife says she heard very clearly 

From his lips come the utterance "bed." 
And when he's tucked under the cover, 

"Good-night," she'll say, "mamma's boy blue, 
And she'll hear him say "good-night" distinctly, 

Though to my mind he only said "Goo." 



THOUGHT PROVOKING 

You ask how oft I think of you, my darling! 

When the first of every month looms into view, 
And I see your modiste's bill collector calling, 

Why, then, my darling one, I think of you. 

— 22 — 



When Canal street stores show, in their springtime vigor, 
Those bonnets trimmed with red, or green, or blue, 

And whose price in dollars reaches nigh the third figure, 
Again, my darling one, I think of yon. 

When winter is approaching, and I settle 

On wearing last year's overcoat anew, 
But I find it swapped of! for a pan or kettle, 

Once more, O, little wife, I think of you. 

When I feel, and my conviction can't be stronger, 
That in my cast-off clothes I left some glue, 

And I search for it, but find it there no longer, 
That's another time, my dear, I think of you. 



TWO FLOWERS 

Only a flower! 'Twas last night a part 

Of a bouquet she wore at her breast; 
Only a flower ! Yet close to his heart 

With a fond lover's passion 'tis pressed. 
Only a flower !a pitiful thing! 

Yet dearer than Kohinoor's gem, 
For a trace of his loved one seemed fondly to cling 

Even yet, unto petals and stem. 

Only a flower ! On yester it grew 

On the grave of a wee little child 
Whom its fond mother knew for a moment or two 

And then saw it die as it smiled. 
Only a flower! Yet priceless its worth, 

Because its brief life had begun 
From the handful of earth o'er the babe 'twixt whose 
birth 

And death, but a moment had run. 

— 23 — 



THE LAND OF NOD 

Oh, don't you love the land of Nod, my baby, 

Where all the little children go at night, 
To wander 'neath the eye of God, my baby, 

In those pleasant realms of ever new delight? 
Where the gentle angels play with thee, my baby, 

And show thee many a soft and beauteous sight, 
Until they give thee back to me, my baby, 

When the morning glow has put the shades to flight. 

I wonder just what joys are there, my baby, 

That make you smile so often in your sleep; 
Are the ones who welcome you so fair, my baby, 

And the pleasures that you drink in, are they deep? 
'Tis a pity that you cannot speak, my baby, 

Else would that tongue to me relate the tale 
Of the beauties of the land you seek, my baby, 

When sleep across your eyelids draws her veil. 

And tell me, through the happy day, my baby, 

When those azure orbs are lit with childish glee, 
In the midst of all your romp and play, my baby, 

Does a longing for the nighttime come to thee? 
Do you wish the glowing sun would sink, my baby, 

So the horses of the twilight, lightly shod, 
Would come for thee when eyelids blink, my baby, 

To bring thee once more to the land of Nod? 



A VALENTINE TO MY WIFE 

"Oh! what shall I send you, my own dearest love, 

In the shape of a fair valentine? 
A card in the form of a carrier dove, 

Bearing love from my heart unto thine? 

— 24 — 



Or a picture of daisies hid in the green field? 

Or a Cupid who roses does strew ? 
What token of homage and love shall I yield, 

On St. Valentine's Day, dear, to you?" 

'Twas thus that I wrote in my office retreat, 

To miy sweet- faced and meek little spouse ; 
The letter completed, a messenger fleet 

Was sent with it up to my house. 
And soon did the answering note greet my eye, 

For swiftly the messenger sped; 
And when I'd torn open my wife's reply, 

These words on the paper I read: 

"Oh ! send me not, loved one, a flowery card, 

Nor one in the shape of a dove, 
With silly verse writ by an embryo bard; 

But send, as a token of love, 
A little green slip seven inches in length, 

By three inches wide, I suppose; 
The little slip backed by the government's strength, 

Which an 'X' in each corner shows." 



A SMART KID 

An encyclopedia volume had dropped down from its 
place ; 
And my little boy's quick, roving glances caught it, 
So he grabbed it from the floor, and straight to the book- 
case 
With halting step and many a grunt he brought it. 
My wife, as proud of this feat as a mother well can be, 

Cried out to me, in tones of exultation, 
"Just think! Although he is but two years old, 
already he 
Has picked up a lot of useful information." 

— 25 — 



IN THE WRONG DIRECTION 

So, wife, you are offended that I happened to divulge 
That little household secret of the habit you indulge 
Of swapping off my garments for the kitciien's benefit, 
And you say you do it 'cause there is economy in it. 

Well, now, upon that latter point, contrary views I hold ; 
Those linen suits of mine, my dear, cost seven dollars 

cold. 
You swapped three for a kettle that is dear at sixty 

cents — 
If you find profit in that deal, my love, you are immense. 

My Madras shirts, the four of them, cost me ten 

dollars — yet 
You gave them for a frying pan worth forty-five cents 

net; 
For one small two-bits broiler went my five-dollar hat — 
My dear, please show me, if you can, economy in that. 

My tan shoes cost four dollars, and the skillet they went 

for 
Is worth just thirty cents, my love, in any hardware 

store ; 
I paid three dollars for those ties (they're worth that 

any time), 
While the tin can that you swapped them for is costly 

(at a dime. 

Economy's the road to wealth, I know, but, dear, alack ! 
All roads have two directions — one forward, t'other 

back; 
And so, my love, I trust that you'll forgive me when 

I say 
That while you may be on the road, you're going the 

wrong way. 

— 26 — 



INTO THE FUTURE 

I take my baby from the floor and place him on my 

knee, 
And wonder, as I stroke his hair, exactly what he'll be; 
And I ask the ancient sibyl who guards the future dim, 
To show unto mine eyes the fate she holds in store for 

him. 

But receiving not an answer from the crone so old and 

wise, 
I strive to read the future in his blue and liquid eyes, 
And I seek to find out whether his path in coming years 
Will lead him o'er the mount of joy or through the vale 

of tears. 

Is he going to be a doctor — will lips that raved with 

pain 
Beseech God's blessings on his head for bringing health 

again ? 
Will woman's soft and tender eyes with grateful tears 

grow dim, 
Because of husband, brother, child, made well and strong 

through him? 

Or will he be a hero? Will on the battlefield 

His voice be raised in thunder tone to bid the foemen 

yield ? 
And if such prove his future, on which side will he be? 
Will his arm back a tyrant's will, or strive for liberty? 

Or will he turn to science? Will those two shining eyes 
Discover unknown planets in the heaven's spreading 

skies ? 
Or will some new invention that benefits mankind 
Acknowledge as its author the genius of his mind? 

— 27 — 



Or will he be a lawyer, learned in his country's laws, 
To plead in courts of justice some worthy client's cause? 
Or will the robes of ermine one day enwrap the form 
That now I hold so tightly in the shelter of my arm ? 

Will he become a statesman and let words of wisdom 

fall, 
As he pleads for right and justice in the legislative hall, 
And, dying, leave behind him a great and noble fame, 
That ages to come after may glorify his name? 

Will he make Art his mistress, and put Milais to the 

blush, 
While Titian pales beside him as beside the sun the rush ? 
Or will he as a poet sing till Byron's voice grows dumb, 
And Burns' name is heard no more in the changing years 

to come? 
Or will he be a searcher into Nature's wondrous laws . 
And with undying Newton claim the grateful world's 

applause ? 
Or will earth- famous books spring forth from 'neath his 

flowing pen, 
To bring far nobler, purer thoughts unto the minds of 

men? 

Will he become an actor, and in passioned tone declaim, 
While thousands crowd to see the man who rivals 

Irving's fame? 
Or have the fates decreed for him a mediocre life — 
His home his stage, his plaudits but from children and 

from wife? 

Or — here my thoughts grow anxious, and I scarce 

repress a sigh — 
Will he become a libertine, or as a drunkard die? 
Or will he as a gambler entwine the fatal loop 
Around the head and bosom of some unsuspecting dupe? 

— 28 — 



Nay, God forbid! And may He some angel deputize 
To guard my infant's onward steps with ever-watchful 

eyes; 
And, whatever path He wills my boy in life's fast fleeting 

span, 
I pray that He may make of him a good and honest man. 



IN FLAGRANTE DELICTU 

'Twas the hour of six one evening, just ten days ago or 

more, 
When I heard the front bell ringing and I opened wide 

the door; 
There stood a maid, to me unknown, of most surpassing 

grace, 
With a wealth of golden ringlets and a lovely, blushing 

face. 
She made as sweet a picture as I ever saw in life, 
As she, blushing, said in silv'ry tones she'd come to see 

my wife ; 
My spouse was out, and would soon return I told the 

maiden fair, 
And at my invitation she came in and took a chair. 

Now, I am quite susceptible to every pretty miss, 
And ere ten minutes' talk we'd had, I asked her for a 

kiss; 
She seemed surprised, but gave it — then I plead with her 

for more, 
And as her lips met mine again my wife walked in the 

door. 
A contretempts, I hear you say, and threats of a divorce. 
Why, no; my wife beheld it as a matter quite of course; 
No threats were made, no tears were shed, she didn't 

even scold, 
Because, you see, this visitor was not quite six years old. 

— 29 — 



THE PATENT UNBREAKABLE DOLL 

On the day that our daughter was five years old, 

We thought we'd endeavor to get, 
If we could, 'mongst the things that the toy dealers sold, 

Some plaything she hadn't as yet. 
The search appeared vain, as we ransacked, that morn, 

Every store at which we made a call, 
Till in one my wife's quick, eager glances fell on 

A patent unbreakable doll. 

The salesman spoke well of the wonderful toy, 

And the strength that its sturdy frame had ; 
So the dolly came home, to our little girl's joy, 

While our youngest, a two-year-old lad, 
As a sneer to his features did fervently cling, 

Seemed thinking, "What fools are you all ! 
Just give me a chance, and I won't do a thing 

To your patent unbreakable doll." 

Next day came his chance; in a casual way 

He gouged out the dolly's left eye ; 
Then a twist of his hand, and before you could say 

"Jack Robinson," an arm was awry; 
With a critical grin, he pulled off the nose; 

A jerk, and the right ear did fall; 
'Twas the work of a second to knock off the toes 

Of that patent unbreakable doll. 

His brow was as calm as a soft summer night, 

'While his eyes had the satisfied glow 
Of the soldier who conquers and puts to the flight 

His so-called invincible foe. 
Wife and I just then camie in at the door; 

There he stood like Napoleon of Gaul, 
Midst the wreck and the ruin that cumbered the floor, 

From that patent unbreakable doll. 

— 30 — 



So we look at each other with quivering lip, 

And the thought round each bosom did coil, 
That we'd give up our long-planned Egyptian trip, 

For we wished no international broil. 
And we feared, if the eyes of that vandal-like kid 

On the Pyramids happened to fall, 
He'd perchance serve old Cheops the same way he did 

That patent unbreakable doll. 



DISCRIMINATES 

My little boy's a jealous cuss; each thing his sister gets 
He wants likewise, else there's a fuss, and all day long he 

frets. 
I'll want to take my daughter out for a walk of a block 

or two, 
And I'll hear my other youngster shout: "Me, too, papa, 

me, too." 

"You are a precious little dear," unto the girl I'll say ; 
"Me, too, papa, me, too," I'll hear from his lips right 

away. 
"I've brought a bag of cakes for you," my daughter I'll 

inform, 
And there comes the quick refrain, "Me, too," in accents 

loud and warm. 

But let me tell the girl, "My pet, go get your face 

washed, dear;" 
I'll listen for some time, and yet no "Me, too" greets 

my ear. 
Or "Go to bed," the girl I'll bid ; "it's quite too late for 

you 
To be up" — but that slick young kid will never say, 

"Me, too." 

— 31 — 



WISE BY EXPERIENCE 

Two arms round my neck are twining, two soft arms so 

fair and white; 
Two eyes into* mine are shining with a loving, tender 

light. 

Two red lips are parted, showing teeth resembling rows 

of pearls; 
Odors sweet come to me flowing from a mass of dark 

brown curls. 

On my ears a voice beguiling falls in mellowed accents 

down — 
Yet my face is stern, unsmiling, and my forehead wears 

a frown. 

Thus I play the unmoved tyrant; hardest role of all is 

this, 
To refuse the dear aspirant what she begs for, just a 

kiss. 

For I know these words of honey, these hugs and ca- 
resses sweet, 
But forerun a call for money for a fall outfit complete. 



SPEAKING FROM EXPERIENCE 

There are men in town enough to hold the river in its 
place, 
Should it ever through our levees in its anger try to 
run; 
But their number's insufficient quite to wash the dirty 
face 
Of my son and heir, aged two years, when he doesn't 
want it done. 

— 32 — 



AS HE UNDERSTOOD HIS INSTRUCTIONS 

I had lately been appointed the inspector on our square; 

Mike O'Grady was a willing volunteer, 
And from his words in telling me to use him anywhere 

I could see that his intentions were sincere. 
So I said to him, "We'd best commence, friend Michael, 
right away, 

For, indeed, we haven't too much time to spare ; 
And 'twould be a splendid idea for you to start to-day, 

By cleaning out that bar-room over there." 

Mike went — a moment afterward I heard some talking 
loud, 
Then some curses, and the dull impact of blows, 
Next I saw rush out the swinging door a frightened, 
hurried crowd; 
I ran over there, and what do you suppose? 
There was Michael punching men around, and soon as 
he saw me, 
His voice cried out above the great turmoil: 
"Begorra and be jabers! It's hard worruk, but Mr. C, 
Ain't I clanin' out this bar-room in great shtoyle?" 



PROOF POSITIVE 

I knew not if baby was sleeping, 

As I bent over him in his bed; 
Tight-shut his two eyes he was keeping, 

But suspicions were rife in my head ; 
And I thought, by inquiring, that maybe 

I'd get him the truth to confess; 
So I asked : "Are you fast asleep baby ?" 

And his answer came soft to me, "Yes." 

— 33 — 



AN INFANTILE SOLILOQUY 

Well, sir, what sort of place is this that some one's 

brought me to? 
A lot of people standing round — a funny looking crew, 
Some crying and some laughing, some slobbering over 

me, 
The strangest lot of people that one could wish to see. 

Well, let's listen to what's going on. You see, the world 

don't know 
That babies always understand what's said, but yet 

it's so. 
While none of us can speak a word, yet, from the very 

day 
We're born, our little minds can grasp whatever people 

say. 

I guess from what they's saying, I'm in the nurse's lap. 
Just listen to that mullet say I'm a splendid looking chap ! 
Of course I am, you big old chump! I'm handsomer 

than you ; 
If I wasn't I'd go shoot' myself, you stiff; that's what 

I'd do. 

What's that? That duck my daddy? And I look like 

him, they say. 
What have I done these people that they slander me 

this way? 
Just listen to him driveling, "Bosom full of joy; 
Been praying like two-forty that God would send a boy." 

Whoever heard such rot as that — here, what the mis- 
chief's this? 
A-scratching all my face up with what he calls a kiss! 

— 34 — 



I think I'll yell for that awhile, and worry the big 

chump. 
A-ya, a-ya, a-ya, a-ya. Good Lordy ! see him jump. 

Well, I want to take the whole crowd in, so I'll pass on 

to the next. 
So that's the doctor, is it? He looks as if he's vexed. 
Say, doc, it all depends on how I'm treated by these 

cranks, 
As to whether I'll give you a roast, or smile and offer 

thanks. 

And that's my Grandma Annie that's standing over 

there ? 
Just see her try to make believe she really doesn't care. 
Come off the perch, old lady. That bluff don't work 

with me; 
For I'm your first-born grandson, and you're proud as 

you can be. 

And there's my little sister. Well, I ain't much stuck on 

girls, 
And I'd like to get my hands among that mass of yellow 

curls. 
Just wait until I'm stronger; I'll fix that saucy miss — 
O, Lord ! Here comes my dad again. He wants another 

kiss. 

Well, take it< Now get off of the earth. You're standing 

in my light. 
Some one says that's my mamma. My ! ain't she looking 

white ? 
I think she must be feeling sick — they say she mustn't 

stir. 
I won't have so much trouble, I guess, in bossing her. 

I think I'll cry a little while, and see these durned fools 
run. 

— 35 — 



A-ya, a-ya, a-ya, a-ya. O ! golly, ain't this fun ? 
A-ya, a-ya, a-ya, a-ya. They think I've got a pain. 
They're running all around the room like people gone 
insane. 

Good gracious, but I'm hungry. A-ya-ya — See my ma ! 
She's fixing up to feed me, so I guess I'll stop my jaw. 
Good-night, you folks. I'm off to sleep, but I'll wake 

with the dawn, 
And start a Reign of Terror just as sure as I am born. 



WOMAN'S WAY 

"Garfeess it's itty seffy, ze bessed itty shing, 

Zare ain't ernozzer fesher zat's half as smart as hing; 

Zu pooty dumpy lumpy, akutchukutchuku, 

Er itty oosymoosy, er googlegooglegoo." 

What is it ? you ask. A Zululand song, 
Or a maniac's ravings, forsooth? 
Oh, no ! It is just the remarks of my wife 
When she found that the babe had a tooth. 



A SOUL-FELT WISH 

Oft in the solemn, stilly night, 

When sudden waked from peaceful snore, 
And when I step with all my mjight 

On tacks a-strewn upon the floor, 
Then to my aching heart there does 

And earnest but too vain wish roll, 
That I a corporation was, 

And, like it, didn't have a sole. 



36- 



A LOVE LETTER 

My Love — 

Say my caress you'll meet, 

And I'll sing of thee in flowing meter; 
And though my board bill I must beat 

To do so, we'll go to Abita. 
My Christian name learn to repeat, 

And in words much hotter than saltpeter, 
I'll verses write thine eyes to greet — 

My love, my own, my fair Marg'rita. 

Unto no Madeline nor Kate 

Will ever I, my darling, cater; 
For I have not that awful trait 

That makes of man sometimes a traitor. 
Thou, love, shall be my only mate; 

I swear it by my Alma Mater ! 
And though we live in direst strait, 

No course than mine could e'er be straighter. 

Of graces that do thee bedight, 

I'll ever be the proud inditer. 
I'll strive my best to do what's right, 

If need be I'll become a writer. 
And if that fails, with all my might 

I'll turn and be a dynamiter, 
Or drive a car from morn to night, 

Or leach the desert sands for niter. 

I'll never wander from thy side, 

In taverns to swill ale or cider, 
And though by other men I'm guyed, 

My wife shall ever be my guider. 
N'er further from thee I'll be spied 

Than from his web the honest spider, 

— 37 — 



My wife's ne'er kick, in life's broad tide, 
'Gainst him to whom the fates have tied her. 

Oh! love, I'm such a jealous dolt, 

I envy smiles you give Will Dolton, 
And oft I wish a thunderbolt 

Would strike that grinning ass, Jim Bolton; 
And as for silly Tommy Holt, 

If that same dude I had a holt on, 
I'd kill him with my trusty Colt, 

So jealous is 

Yours, 

CHARLES J. COLTON. 

DAUNTLESS COURAGE 

Talk not to me of heroes who've achieved fame with 

the sword, 
Of the Spartan chief Leonidas, who braved the Persian 

horde, 
Nor yet of Arnold Winkelried, who bared his dauntless 

breast, 
And gathered in the foemen's spears, while his comrades 

did the rest. 

Speak not of bold Jim Bludso, who held the bow ashore 

While the passengers were landed, and then fell to rise 
no more; 

Dwell not on ancient martyrs, who faced death unflinch- 
ingly, 

For when it comes to courage, they're not a patch to me. 

The gallant deed that I'm to do will ever live in Fame, 
And countless millions yet to come will reverence my 

name; 
A more courageous act than mine the world will never 

know, 
For I've promised to be umpire at the coming baby show. 

- 3 8- 



MY BABY'S OVERHEARD SOLILOQUY 

I'm the Sultan of Turkey, in a limited way ; 

The household I cause to resound 
With my outbreaks of anger along through the day, 

When the powers (that's pa) ain't around; 
But when he is home, I'm as meek as the Turk 

When the nations are looking his way — 
To resume once again, when he's gone to his work, 

My cruel and despotic sway. 

Like the Christians out East, when the warships appear 

From Italy, England and France, 
My subjects throw off every symptom of fear 

When pa comes, and carol and dance; 
But when pa is gone, they once again know 

The weight of an unsparing hand, 
As the said Christians do when the war vessels go 

Away from the Bosphorus strand. 

So here's to you, tyrant, far over the sea, 

From a tyrant as cruel as thou. 
Though many more victims crouch down before thee 

Than quake at my corrugate brow, 
When it comes to making a scourge of one's self 

To work trembling subjects annoy, 
I'd bet a cool million, had I but the pelf, 

I could give you some pointers, old boy. 



THREE ARMOIRS 

Behold this armoir ! Who could pass 
A miracle of fine French glass, 
With beveled edges, such as that, 
Without a glance of pride thereat? 

— 39 — 



Its ornate, chased designs behold ! 

How like unto the purest gold 

Each burnished knob with brilliance glows !- 

That's where the madam keeps her clothes. 

Now look upon this other, here! 

Almost as fine, almost as dear; 

Same beveled glass, of French design; 

The knobs with equal brilliance shine ; 

A marvel of the maker's art, 

To please the eye and glad the heart, 

With naught the tout ensemble to mar! — 

That's where my daughter's garments are. 

Now, step into this corner here! 
Tread lightly, please, elsewise I fear 
This armoir may to pieces drop; 
Patchwork from bottom up to top; 
No carvings here of chaste design, 
But doors unglazed, of cheapest pine; 
The knobs with brassy dullness stare — 
I've got to keep my own clothes there. 



COSTLY 

"You are a precious dear," she said- 

I knew just what it meant, 
That she had a spring bonnet bought, 

And to me the bill had sent. 
And I was right ; next day it came 

And verified my fear; 
The said spring bonnet, like myself, 

Being precious dear. 

— 40 — 



WHEN I WAS BUT TWENTY AND TWO 

How this bundle of time-worn old letters 

Turns my thoughts to the days that are fled, 
When my heart was a captive in fetters 

To lips of the cherriest red, 
To eyes like the brightest stars gleaming, 

To cheeks of the rosiest hue, 
In those days of love's earliest dreaming, 

When I was but twenty and two. 

Adown through a lengthening vista 

I see as these lines I read o'er, 
To the soft moonlight night when I kissed her, 
And bade her good-by at the door; 
And swore by the heaven above her, 

The heart in my bosom was true, 
That forever and ever I'd love her — 

When I was but twenty and two. 

And these letters, all tenderly breathing 

The love of her innocent breast, 
To-night seem around me enwreathing 

A spirit of infinite rest ; 
The years, with whatever of sorrow 

They brought, fade away from the view, 
As a few fleeting moments I borrow 

From the time I was twenty and two. 

See, here she refers to some verses 

I wrote for her autograph book ; 
And here a shy sentence rehearses 

The walk that we yesterday took; 
And here is a line to awaken 

My mem'ry: "You know, dear, that you 
W r ere to go get your photographs taken" — 

When I was but twenty and two. 

— 41 — 



Ah me ! It scarce seems that 'tis seven 

Long years since I first read each line, 
With the thought that no angel in heaven 

Had a happier portion than mine, 
And swore, with a young lover's fervor, 

My dream was too sweet to be true, 
For I knew that I didn't deserve her, 

When I was but twenty and two. 

Now my wife o'er my shoulder is leaning, 

And yet to my bosom there rise 
No thoughts that I'd better be screening 

These letters of old from her eyes ; 
What care I although she may note them? 

I know that the fact I'll not rue, 
For she was the maiden that wrote them 

When I was but twenty and two. 



AN ANXIOUS APPEAL 

Oh! tell me, little wife, I pray, 

Exactly where I'm at. 
Two years ago you stole away 

My shirt and my cravat. 

You got more masculine in dress- 
My derby hat you took — 

And lately I, at your request, 
My coat and waistcoat shook. 

And now, dear wife, I beg of thee, 
If bloomers should, perchance, 

Become the rage take not from me 
All I've got left — my pants. 

— 42 — 



RETROSPECTION 

"Kiss, kiss me, love!" 'twas thus I spoke; 'twas thus I 

sought to woo thee. 
I felt, as my arms clasped thee round, a fiery thrill run 

through thee; 
Gone, gone, all thought of care or sin, gone, all visions 

gloomy ! 
A world of joy enclosed me in as panting you clung 

to me. 

"Kiss, kiss me, love!" again I spoke; mine eyes in thine 
were shining, 

As if their fiery glances were thine inmost thoughts di- 
vining ; 

Your form crept close and closer yet, your breast 'gainst 
mine reclining! 

The world forgot, all woe, all pain, all sorrow, all re- 
pining. 

I felt from 'twixt your parted lips the hot, impassioned 
breathing ; 

A flame of fire shot through my frame and seemed my 
heart enwreathing, 

My brain, erstwhile so calm and cool, became a furnace 
seething, 

As if the midday sun had died, its heat to me bequeath- 
ing. 

Deep down within those slumb'rous orbs the tiger love 

was glowing; 
Vibrations shook thy lissome form, thy bosom's passion 

showing ; 
There seemed an hour's bliss within each moment's 

speedy going, 
As there we stood, our yielding selves into each other 

growing. 

— 43 — 



I marked your bosom rise and fall, with quick, con- 
vulsive panting; 

Your voice in trembling accents came, my ardent wishes 
granting ; 

Within their dulcet tones I seemed to hear an angel 
chanting ; 

As slowly down I sank my head, my lips on thine im- 
planting. 

I close mine eyes and feel again that soft yet fervent 

pressure ; 
Once more my ardent lips drink in thine own's exquisite 

treasure ; 
Once more I live those moments fleet of brief, ecstatic 

pleasure, 
And once again that bliss is mane, far, far past earthly 

measure. 



HOW MY WIFE BROKE THE NEWS 

"Come home at once," the letter said ; 
"And don't delay," it further read. 

I felt through every vein 
A thrill run of an unknown dread ; 
All brightness from my bosom fled, 
And in my aching, throbbing head 

A weight bore on miy brain. 
"Since you unto your office sped, 
Our babe" — O Heavens! is he dead? 
My dimpled boy, my infant Ned ! 
Who crowed to hear his father's tread, 
And comfort o'er our household shed! — 

O Death ! hath thou no ruth ?— 
With tear-filled eyes and heart of lead, 
The letter's closing lines I read, 

"Has cut a tiny tooth." 

— 44 — 



PUZZLING 

I feel a racking wonder my busy thoughts amid, 

Just where my wife the language gets she uses to our 

kid; 
She'll call him "mamma's sonnyson," and the query 

comes to me : 
What in this wide world of ours a "sonnyson" can be. 

And oft, in a despairing way, in vain I rack my wits 

To try to find the genesis of "pootydoodleits" ; 

Then "boofulboysie" she will say — the lexicons I've 

scanned, 
But I can't find the word; it must quite sui juris stand. 

Then "izzysing" and "oozyman" upon my tympan jar, 
And I spend an hour in wondering exactly what they 

are; 
Anon a "boodledee" or "butz" will float upon the air; 
Or a "deeseeweeizzyfell" will add to my despair. 

She asked me once did I not think that selfsame little 

kid 
Was the sweetest "mansy" in the world; of course, I 

said I did — 
I knew 'twould raise a hurricane did I dare answer nay, 
Though, really, what a "mansy" is, I don't know to this 

day. 

I've gone through Johnson, Kenrick, Smart, each glos- 
sary read o'er 

But cannot find a record of such words in use before; 

They're not in the Chaldaic tongue; the isle of savage 
seas 

Have no tribes in whose dialect occur such words as 
these. 

— 45 — 



And so, my little wife, I beg, please tell me where you 

found 
These wondrous terms, or very soon I'll lie beneath the 

ground ; 
My mental self is all distraught, my brain is growing 

soft 
From puzzling o'er the meaning of these words you use 

so oft. 



INTERRUPTED {REFLECTIONS 

The situation's very tomb (my wife bids me behave; 
'Tis but the pen's sad slip, my love — the word I meant 

was "grave"). 
Should our receptions break (my dear, I never yet have 

seen 
You quite so captious before; it's "levees" that I mean). 
But, then, we have a trusty plank (I really can't afford 
These constant interruptions, love; you know that I 

meant "Board"). 
With such a man as Russia (now, just give me a chance; 
I get these countries mixed sometimes — the one I mean 

is Frantz). 

Then there's Tabasco (now, I miean — you know it well 

enough — 
Abascal; but it's all the same; he's certainly "hot stuff"). 
(Likewise the gallant tireless Turk (I wonder how you 

can 
Pick your hub up so quickly; I refer to Ot. Thoman). 
So I feel vault (my love, why do you thus my temper 

chafe ? 
The editor will understand, of course, that I mean 

"safe"; 
But since you're bent on scoring every error I put down, 
I'll put the balance of this off until I get up town). 



4 6- 



SINCE WIFE CAME HOME 

When the cat's a-visiting, 

Then mice will play; 
And hubby will do much the same, 

When wife's away; 
But now the time's approaching when 

No more he'll roam, 
And the state of things is different 
Since 

wife 

came 

home. 

He's done some things that wouldn't 

Look well in print ; 
The town he's often covered 

With a crimson tint ; 
His deeds have echoed upward 

Unto Heaven's dome; 
But adieu to fun and frolic 
Since 

wife 

came 

home. 

October's month is waxing, and 

It soon will wane ; 
Better-halves are coming in 

On every train ; 
Mount and wood and sandy beach 

By ocean's foam, 
All lie lone and deserted 
Since 

wife 

came 

home. 

— 47 — 



He looked so meek and saintly when 

The train rolled in, 
You'd never think him guilty of 

A single sin ; 
He's made good resolutions 

That would fill up many a tome, 
And turned o'er new leaves a-plenty 
Since 

wife 

came 

home, 



JUDAH TOURO 

All hail to the mem'ry of Touro, 
The humane, magnanimous Touro, 
The noble, benevolent Touro, 
Who now sitteth near to his Lord. 
Whose charity knew no distinction twixt sect or re- 
ligion or creed, 
But fell like a mantle of mercy over all of his fellows 

in need; 
Who builded no shaft skyward reaching, to recall to 

his county his fame, 
But whose goodness is written in bosoms that pulsate 

with thanks at his name; 
Who asked not the needy and suffering his race or 

religion or land, 
But gave from his storehouse of plenty with lavish 

and generous hand; 
Whose life work was but to find favor in the eyes of 

his all-seeing God, 
And whose spirit was resting in Heaven ere his body 

reposed in the sod. 

-48- 



MARK AND LUCILE 

Two children played together in the glory of childish 

fun. 
Their heads with golden ringlets just tipped by the light 

of the sun; 
The boy with eyes of azure and the girl with eyes of 

brown, 
Their cheeks all aglow with pleasure as they romped o'er 

the grassy ground. 

And now they are after a butterfly, for the sake of its 
glittering wings, 

And now they are chasing a rabbit that up from' the 
green meadow springs — 

How merrily rings out their laughter, as over each other 
they fall, 
In the wild helter-skelter of childhood, with God look- 
ing down upon all. 

O angels that watch over children ! may these your 

especial care be; 
And He who once said in His goodness : "Suffer 

children to come unto Me," 
Preserve and protect our two loved ones ; let them walk 

in the light of Thy grace 
And keep them both pure and unspotted till they meet 

Thee above, face to face. 



THE NINE O'CLOCK BELL 



As I sit here to-night, with the rolling inflections 
Of the city bell tolling the hour of nine, 

Falling harsh on my ear, how the fond recollections 
Of boyhood come into this bosom of mine! 

— 49 — 



And mem'ry brings to me the market-place meetings, 
Where we urchins all loved to assemble so well, 

And to play 'neath its arches till sent homeward fleeting 
By the intoning voice of the nine o'clock bell. 

How well I remember each blood-curdling story 

That Moulton would tell us of Buffalo Bill, 
Or of wild Deadwood Dick and his career of glory, 

While we gathered round him so awestruck and still ! 
And how, while the moments unnoticed were slipping, 

There came that dread sound all our dreams to dispel, 
And then the mad race, to avoid the sure whipping 

Should we fail to beat homeward the nine o'clock bell. 

How my musing recalls the parental injunction, 

"Be home, sir, at nine, or I'll wallop you sore" ; 
And which rule disobeyed brought the direst com- 
punction ^ 

When I dwelt on the licking most surely in store ; 
And oft was it due me, for, under the power 

Of the witching adventures that Moulton would tell, 
I'd linger entranced until long past the hour 

Tolled out by the strokes of the nine o'clock bell. 

Ah, me ! as I sit here in melting and mild mood, 

With miy eyelids shut tight and my thoughts backward 
cast, 
I seem to live o'er the gone joys of my childhood, 

Forever dissolved in the mists of the past. 
And there comes once again the deep iron- voiced clatter, 

The crowd of scared urchins dispersing pell mell, 
The hurried good-nights and the footsteps' swift patter, 

Beating home the last tap of the nine o'clock bell. 



50 



MY LITTLE FRIENDS 

Next door to me there live small twins ; the one is named 

Corinne ; 
She's called ''Coco" Tor short, you know — the other is 

Delphine. 
I see them playing in their yard each day and hear the 

laughter 
From these two burst — Corinne the first, and Delphine 

following after. 

They call on me 'most every eve, with shy though roguish 

looks, 
To show me things good conduct brings, their medals 

and their books ; 
And there they sit and talk away, with cuteness quite 

exquisite ; 
Night comes ; each miss gives me a kiss good-by till their 

next visit. 

One day I asked these little twins if both of them 

loved me. 
"Of course we do," replied the two; "because you're 

good, you see." 
"How much?" I asked. "Five dollars' worth?" — their 

jetblack ringlets petting. 
"Five dollars' worth?" It roused their mirth. "Why, 

that's not love, that's betting." 

And once I asked, "Now, who was bad and talked at 

school to-day?" 
Corinne's cheek burned, her eyes were turned from my 

glance straight away. 
But truth lives in her little heart in all its perfect glory. 
Said she : " 'Twas me ; I'd rather be laughed at than 

tell a story." 

— 5T — 



Now, though I love these little things, the truth must be 

confessed, 
That they can talk from morn to dark and never take 

a rest; 
So if you ever are ennuyed, or any thing's the matter, 
Come down my way; 'twill drive away your blues to 

hear them chatter. 



FOOLED 

Two red lips are turning to me as I stand there in a 

maze ; 
Roguish brown eyes seem to woo me through the soft 

November haze. 

Ever since I first had met her had I coaxed the way- 
ward miss ; 
Vainly had I tried to get her to bestow on me a kiss. 

Deaf she was to all my pleadings, deaf to every pas- 
sioned vow ; 

Hence I wondered that succeeding could reward my 
efforts now. 

'Twas no dream — the lips were turning unto me with 
gesture coy; 

In my breast my heart was burning with a thus far un- 
known joy. 

Glad at this relenting toward my long-made and anxious 

prayer, 
Eagerly my head bent forward, meeting naught but 

empty air. 

Gone the hope within me springing, gone the lips inviting, 

cool ! 
While I heard the laughter ringing, and a voice say: 

"What a fool" 

— 52 — 



THE CIRCUS PARADE 

It's long since I've come into manhood, you see, 
And fast I'm approaching to years thirty-three; 
So, of course, I have left those diversions behind 
Wherein as a lad so much pleasure I'd find, 
Like kites and like tops and like chineys and such, 
That tickles the hearts of the youngsters so much ; 
Yet my old-time desires I find never fade, 
To go out and look at the circus parade. 

With its tigers and camels and giraffes and things, 
And its clowns who make fun in the thirty- foot rings ; 
With its ladies so dashing and handsome and fair, 
Who act on trapezes way up in the air; 
With its rubber contortionists tied up in knots, 
And its women and men tattooed over in spots, 
And its steam calliope, without which, I'm afraid, 
There'd be no such thing as the circus parade. 

As a boy, how I'd shrink when hyenas would howl, 
Or the leopard would crouch or the lion would growl ; 
How I'd shudder to gaze on the snake charmer's pet — 
And I find the same feelings are all with me yet. 
With the same boyish pleasure I open my eyes, 
As with wonder I gaze on the elephants' size, 
All looking so sober, so wise and so staid, 
As they lumber along in the circus parade. 

And now that the circus is with us again, 
With all of the things that it brings in its train, 
I'm going to shirk for the moment and go 
To see all the sights that once tickled me so ; 
I'm going to stand all the big crowd amid, 
And I'll have as much joy as the veriest kid, 
As I gaze on the wonders so freely displayed 
Along the whole route of the circus parade. 

— 53 — 



THE FIRST BALL 

For weeks and weeks, her rosy cheeks 

Have taken redder glow, 
With each fond thought that fancy brought 

Of the joys she soon would know. 
The days slip by, the hour is nigh, 

Her comrades for her call ; 
With heart a-beat with visions sweet, 

She goes to her first ball. 

What dreams so bright of fond delight 

The ballroom holds for her ! 
The bright lights shine, the waltz divine, 

The crush, the glare, the stir; 
The music's sound, the youths around, 

And she the queen of all; 
No sad annoy and naught but joy 

For her at her first ball. 

Too soon, too soon, the afternoon 

And darkest night will come; 
Too soon your heart will feel the dart 

That strikes its beating numb; 
Too soon the care, the grim despair, 

Around your life will fall ; 
Too soon, alas ! the joy will pass 

You know at your first ball. 



AN OPEN LETTER 

Let me tell you, through the medium of the press, my 
wife, 

What I'd dare not say if facing you alone — 
That to put aside all prejudice, I guess, my wife, 

There are other babes as pretty as our own. 

— 54 — 



Now, there's not the slightest use in getting riled, my 
wife, 

(Remember, I'm at present far from thee), 
When I say that though I dearly love our child, my wife, 

Yet I know some others are as smart as he. 

And I cannot longer hold from you the truth, my wife, 
Though I know 'twill likely set you in a rage, 

There may have been some kids besides our youth, my 
wife, 
Who weighed just as much as he did, at his age. 

As you say, his eyes are bright as any star, my wife, 
And, of course, he no doubt has a charming phiz, 

But I'd not wonder if some other babes there are, my 
wife, 
With eyes and faces just as nice as his. 

And now that I have had a chance to tell, my wife, 
To you the things I long have wished to say, 

Please 'phone me — search your inmost bosom well, my 
wife — 
If you think I'm safe in coming home to-day. 



THE OTHER KIND OF GROOM 



He said he had been the groom 

At a very swell wedding uptown, 
Where the bride was of rare and radiant bloom, 
, And the dowry a cool million down; 
And he bore such a tough reputation, 

We just put it down that he lied, 
Till now we found out that his statement was true 

He'd 'tended the horses outside. 

— 55 — 



TO A DISSATISFIED SCHOOLBOY 

Oh, come, little grumbler, and travel with me 
Over river and valley and prairie and sea, 
Over hill, over dale, over mountain of stone, 
To a far away country I know of alone, 

Where there's nothing to worry, 

And fractions don't flurry, 

And there never are lessons to get in a hurry; 
Where the sun's ever shining, the sky's ever blue, 
And birds ever warble for me and for you; 
Where there are no historical dates to recall — 
In that wonderful country of Nowhere-at-All. 

Come fly away, quickly, the faries so bright 

Are patiently waiting to see us alight 

From the mystical carriage they've placed at our hand 

To carry us off to their beautiful land, 

Where there's nothing to vex us, 

And no one expects us 

To spell Yangtsekiang, or bound drear old Texas; 
Where there's nothing to do but lie in the grass, 
And watch the light clouds as they lazily pass ; 
Or play on the sward with the bat and the ball — 
In that wonderful country of Nowhere-at-All. 

Come on, let's not linger; for time quickly flies; 
In an hour you'll be 'neath the schoolmaster's eyes, 
In sound of his voice and in reach of his hand, 
Then farewell all thoughts of that beautiful land, 

Where rhetoric won't task us, 

And none care to ask us 

Maine's largest town or the size of Damascus; 
Where there's never "Steele's Physics" and hygiene's 
forgot, 

-56- 



And parsing and cube roots are all voted rot; 
Come, haste, and ere night on the sad earth doth fall, 
We'll be safe in the country of Nowhere-at-All. 



A MEETING OF THE BIRDS 

The birds of the forest assembled 

To put up a job on the cat, 
Unto them as great an annoyance 

As he certainly was to the rat. 

Said one : "Our nests always he's robin', 
If we build within reach of his paws." 

And the crow, who had come uninvited 

Croaked aloud, "And you give him no caws." 

Quoth another: "I'll tell you a method; 

We'll dig a big pit after dark, 
And then, if he'll only fall linnet, 

It will be such a glorious lark." 

"But he'll 'owl," said the young English sparrow, 
"And 'is friends will come trooping h'around; 

And it wooddove course be very risky 
For one of us there to be found." 

Spoke a fourth: "We'll go get some rank poison, 
And the same on a piece of meat spread ; 

And then, if he only will swallow it, 

'Twont be long 'ere our foeman is dead." 

At this point they chanced to hear footsteps, 
And the cat himself hove in their sight; 

It set the poor birdies a-flutter, 

And the meeting broke up in a fright. 

— 57 — 



THE TRANSFORMATION 

See him standing over there, 
With commanding mien and air! 
Hear how proudly speaketh he, 
Shouting loudly "Liberty 
Is your due, men, is your right; 
And should you, men, boldly fight, 
And not cower submissive 
'Neath the power riches give 
To the f oeman millionaire, 
Strike out, yeomen, do and dare !" 
So he speaks in Freedom's name, 
Glow his cheeks with ardent flame; 
Thus he preaches for "The Cause," 
And his speeches meet applause. 
All around him bearded men 
There surround him in the den ; 
Anarchistic meeting this, 
Socialistic curses hiss 
Through the air within the hall — 
Of them there he's chief of all. 
See the same man at his home, 
What a tame man he's become ! 
See how meek his bended head 
And his cheek, erstwhile red 
With a glow of fierce delight, 
Now does show a hue of white! 
If wife calls out — he'll quick obey; 
He won't fall out with her nay, nay, 
For he's averse to rouse her spite, 
Ten times worse than dynamite 
Which he of late, on many nights 
Did advocate to gain our rights. 
"Hold the baby !" loud she cries, 
And the baby quickly flies; 

- 5 8- 



"Wash the dishes," next shell say, 

And her wishes he'll obey. 

"Light the fire, bake the bread," 

'Neath her ire he shrinks in dread. 

Each command of her's is law ; 

He can't stand her iron jaw. 

How he shakes in every limb, 

When she takes a look at him ! 

How a shiver through him flies 

When from quiver of her eyes 

Darts a glance of angry glow 

To enhance his footsteps slow ! 

It thus appears, the bravest men 

Among their peers are cowards when 

Before their wives' least angry tone, 

And dare their lives scarce call their own ; 

For though 'gainst human law, perchance, 

Yet often woman wears the pants. 



CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER CASES 

Her papa was a tease, you know ; 

She oft confessed to me, 
In accents that just thrilled with woe, 

How indiscreet was he. 
The things that maidens ne'er let out, 

Would find the light of day, 
And by her friends be talked about, 
'Cause 
pa 
gave 
her 

away. 

He'd tell how she could make a meal 
of onions, on the sly; 

— 59 — 



Of course, so bad 'twould make her feel, 

No wonder that she'd cry. 
The Number Five she wore of shoes; 

It almost turned her gray 
To find the fact was public news, 
'Cause 
pa 
gave 
her 

away. 

No maiden likes the fact to leak 

(I care not unto whom) 
That all the color in her cheek 

Is due to "Patent Bloom." 
Or that she's fond of "Brilliantine," 

Or uses riz poudre — 
And so, she thought it very mean 
When 

pa 
gave 
her 

away. 

She used to sigh and sob and fret, 

And cry and pout and rail, 
And pine and grieve and chafe — and yet, 

'Twas all without avail 
To break this habit that he had, 

Which grew worse day by day, 
Until I thought that she'd go mad, 
'Cause 
pa 
gave 
her 

away. 

— 60 — 



But late a change came o'er this maid ; 

I saw her t'other night, 
In garments all of white arrayed, 

Before the altar bright ; 
Lohengrin's "Wedding March" did chime — 

And I am frank to say 
She didn't seem "put out" this time 
When 

pa 
gave 
her 

away. 

THE BURIAL OF THE ARCHBISHOP 

Smother the sigh and banish the tear ! 

No lamentations over the dead ! 
Tis only his body we see lying here ; 
His soul long ago reached that Heavenly sphere, 
Where the man good on earth of the angels is peer — 

For so in the book of Jehovah 'tis said. 

Wherefore these sighs that his spirit has rest? 

It only hath gone to its promised reward; 
Reward that is gained by the noblest and best, 
Whose souls pass unscathed through the fiery earth- 
test, 
Reward in the faraway land of the blest, 

In the beautiful realm of Jehovah, the Lord. 

Take his clay tenement off from its bier ! 

Lay it down gently out under the sod ! 
While his spirit smiles from the celestial sphere 
Which it sought, and without the least symptom of fear, 
"Well done, good and faithful, my servant!" to hear 

From the lips of his Master, Omnipotent God. 

— 61-. 



WAR AMONG THE BOOKS 

There was a Dickens of a Rowan the library ; 

The whole doggoned crowd were incensed 
With each other — it scarce needs the stating 

That it all about a woman commenced. 
It seems "She" fell out with her Lover, 

But the squabble had caused her such Paine 
She began ('mongst mortals quite different) 

To Sue to be friendly again. 

Now he, quite determined to Lever, 

Asked the friend next to him on the shelf 
To go and so tell her ; the latter 

Replied, "Hugo tell her yourself." > 
Another book Lytton the gallant, 

And cried, it's a shame," in a rage; 
But the youth said he could not be expected 

To Marryat his tender age. 

Some books cried out, "Now, don't you blame him ; 

Ouida done the same thing in his place," 
But others said he was too Harteless, 

And the same was a sin and disgrace. 
The youth, seeing well he would never 

Get -Scott- free of his troubles out, 
Began Irving himself for the struggle 

Which soon would be raging About. 

"By my Life," cried out sturdy old Johnson, 

"Were the days of the tournament here, 
He'd Rousseau ungallant an action 

As long as his arm could Shakespeare." 
The young man at this grew quite Haggard, 

But being Hardy, with a craw full of Sand, 
He declared, in a voice Strong and Savage, 

He'd never retreat from his stand. 

— 62 — 



The fuss had assumed great proportions 

In a way that was pretty D — n Swift, 
And the Hope had become Nye exhausted 

That the darkening clouds e'er would lift. 
'Twas a Marvel, although, to discover 

Howell a few books had kept still, 
Simply saying, "What are all these Wordsworth? 

They'll never make him change his will." 

The maiden here cried, "I'll release him 

If he Burns all my letters"— "But oh!" 
From the top Rioe called out English Junius, 

"Hume mustn't burn mine, sir, you know." 
"Great 'Evans," cried out Chimmine Fadden, 

"Will Hughes fellers git on ter de bloke? 
Dem letters aint fit ter Reade, nohow" — 

And poor Junius looked ready to Croke. 

Someone said it was well they were parted, 
No peace 'twixt the Twain e'er would be, 

For he'd Cooper her up, certain as shooting, 
So jealous a fellow was he; 

And, of course, such a thing would be very 

Em-Barrie-sing — cried the bookcase, "No More 

This straw breaks the back of the Campbell;" 
Then it groaned and fell down on the floor. 



WHICH IT DID 

The asphalt streets upon the Avenue St. Charles got in a 
scrap — 
Each one asked the middle ground to take its side ; 
"But, you know, my friends, as I'm a very peaceful sort 
of chap, 
I think I'll just stay neutral," it replied. 

-63- 



TROUBLE IN THE PARLOR 

Since the row in the kitchen was settled, 

I thought that our home would have peace, 
But it looks like from turmoil and trouble 

We are never to have a surcease. 
For, hearing a noise in the parlor, 

I went there to seek the wherefore, 
And a scene of confusion confronted 

My eyes as I opened the door. 

The sofa had said the wall paper 

Was stuck up — the latter, in scorn, 
Declared that the sofa was forward 

And ought to be sat down upon. 
The chair said the coal in the fireplace 

Was not grate full — with consummate gall, 
The coal turned around on the lambrequin, 

And said 'twasn't tidy at all. 

The fender said it was no blower, 

But would surely not stand any bluff; 
The floor cried it was a free trader, 

And considered the carpet tacks tough. 
The fire-set started to talking, 

The grate said they'd best hold their tongs ; 
And the ornaments said that the pictures 

(And their artists, too) ought to be hung. 

At this, the said pictures retorted 

While the wainscoting seemed to be board 
That if ever, indeed, they were hung up, 

'Twould be of their own will and a cord. 
The shutter cried out that it could not 

See why folks were so mean and unkind, 

-6 4 - 



And the shade said no wonder the shutter 
Couldn't see it — 'twas known to be blind. 

The window, an open young fellow, 

Said the music box was full of airs, 
And the curtains, which needed some sewing. 

Were known for their terrible "tears." 
The piano declared that the tassel 

Was a fool and always on a string, 
And the tassel replied the piano 

Was too hightoned and haughty a thing. 

The trees on the banquette, just outside, 

Peeped in through the window and cried 
It thought the whole parlor was shady ; 

The table in anger replied 
It could say something harsh, if it wanted, 

About the trees' verdure, but said 
It wouldn't, because it was trees on, — 

And at this point I tremblingly fled. 



CAUSE AND EFFECT 

See him walk with footsteps proud ! Hear him talk in 

accents loud ! 
How his laughter gay and free seems to waft a stream 

of glee! 
From his face all the while beams through space a happy 

smile. 
Struts he grandly through the streets, shaking hands with 

all he meets, 
And with the shake, persuasively, "Come and take a 

drink with me." 
Himself he'll blow with every one, for, you know, he's 

full of fun. 

-6 5 - 



Ere the night it does appear, he'll be tight on wine and 

beer, 
And his pocket void as air. Like a rocket, here and 

there, 
He'll go his erratic way, with his "phiz" lit up and gay. 
Till he finds with sudden jar, himself behind a prison 

bar, 
On wooden bunk, past lock and key, and charged with 

"Drunk, disorderly." 

You can't surmise this sudden change; you find this guise 
of his quite strange, 

And wonder how this man sedate becometh now intoxi- 
cate. 

Just ask the man, "Sir, why this joy?" and get the 
answer, "It's a boy." 



RILEY 

Wen Riley's bones is lyin' 

Out underneath th' sod, 
An' Riley's spirit flyin' 

Up yander ter his God, 
'Twill set th' worl' ter sighin', 

We'll git ter weepin' some, 
But angels will be cryin' 

Tth joy ter see him come. 

Ye know, w'ile they is wingin' 
Aroun' th' shinin' throne, 
They gotter keep on singin' 

Vusses all their own; 
An' w'en they sees him 'lightin' 

They won't do er thing 
But jes' set Jim ter writin' 

Songs for 'em to sing. 

— 66 — 



THE KITCHEN FREE^FOR-AJLL 

The fork said the corkscrew was crooked ; 

The remark made the flatiron sad ; 
The steel knife at once lost its temper, 

And called the tea holder a cad. 
The tablespoon stood on its mettle ; 

The kettle exhibited bile; 
The stove grew hot at the discussion, 

But the ice remained cool all the while. 

The way that the cabbage and lettuce 

Kept their heads was something sublime ; 
The greens dared the soup to mix with them, 

And the latter, while it hadn't much thyme, 
Got so mad it boiled over — the fire 

Felt put out and started to cry ; 
The oven then roasted the turkey, 

And the cook gave the grease spot the lye. 

The plate said the clock in the corner 

Transacted its business on tick, 
And the plate, which for years had been battered, 

The clock said was full of old nick. 
The salt said the cream should be whipped, 

The cinnamon laughed — in a rage, 
The cream said the salt was too fresh, 

And its friend wasn't thought to be sage. 

Next the pepper, whose humor is spicy, 

"I dare any fellow," did cry, 
"To caster reflection upon me!" 

The mirror took up the defi. 
Then the ax, with a wit sharp and cutting, 

Declared that the rug had the floor ; 
While the key said the knob should be worshiped, 

'Cause it was the right thing to adore. 

-6 7 - 



The bell, ringing in, said the cook book 

Must be bashful, else wherefore so read? 
The stove brush, a thing of some polish, 

Looked down on the saucer and said 
It thought that the same was too shallow, 

But admitted the cup was quite deep ; 
The coffee tried to climb on the tea leaves, 

But discovered the same were too steep. 

You'd not think a thing that's so holey 

As the sieve, would have mixed in the fuss, 
But it did, for it said that the butter 

Was a slippery sort of a cuss. 
No one knows how the row would have ended, 

Had not the cook, Maggie O'Dowd, 
(Her work being done) closed the kitchen, 

And thusly shut up the whole crowd. 

BILL NYE 

Ye've done went an' died, Bill Nye, 

An' ye've went ter th' heavenly shore, 
'Ere was plenty w'at cried, Bill Nye, 

Wen th' news come thet ye was no more. 
Ye've oft made us grin, Bill Nye, 

Fer yer pen was er fountain o' mirth, 
But we won't laugh ergin, Bill Nye, 

Fer th' Lord hez done took ye from earth. 

Ye never was bad, Bill Nye, 

N matter w'at enemies said, 
An' th' hull worl' is sad, Bill Nye, 

Now thet yer spirit hez fled. 
An' I hope from th' Lord, Bill Nye, 

Thet yer soul hez gone up'ards ter know 
Ye'll git yer reward, Bill Nye, 

Fer th' cheer ye hev scattered below. 

— 68 — 



WHERE HIS BRAVERY FORSOOK HIM 

He had tramped the wilds of Africa and seen the wild 
giraffe, 
And had gazed on lions fierce with greatest brash- 
ness; 
He had listened with tranquility to the striped hyena's 
laugh, 
And faced tigers with a courage that was rashness. 

He had scrapped with big prize-fighters in the zenith 
of their fame, 
And had fought a dozen duels with the greatest of 
temerity ; 
He had entered burning buildings and saved women from 
the flame, 
And had swum Niagara's rapids with celerity. 

He'd played quarter-back at football, and had come out 
safe and sound, 
And had waded through gunpowder with a candle 
that was lighted; 
He had rescued prisoned miners in the caverns under- 
ground, 
And in scenes of slaughter he was much delighted. 

When no one knew just how the cloth that's bullet-proof 
would work, 
He had worn it while the maker experimented ; 
There was scarcely a known danger his courageous heart 
would shirk, 
And the more the risk, the more he was contented. 

But one bargain day, while sauntering past a mammoth 
dry goods store, 
When the weather was a-sweltering and a-simmering, 

-69- 



And his friends dared him to try to pass the women 
round the door, 
He refused, for all his courage went a-glimmering. 



IN MEMORIAM 

Two years since our Annie's spirit 

Left its home of mortal earth, 
Finding, in God's mighty kingdom, 

New and everlasting birth- 
Two years since her words of kindness 

Cheered our hardened way through life, 
Made our troubles seem but shadows, 

Gave us hope in human strife. 

Two years since her eyes beamed on us 
With a love sincere and kind; 

Two years since her sad departing 
Sorrowed those she left behind. 

Two years since she left our fireside, 
And our hearts o'erspread with gloom; 

Two years since the angels called her 
To the peace beyond the tomb. 



THE FASHIONABLE WEDDING 

They'd rehearsed the ceremony over time and time again ; 

But when the time appointed came a speeding, 
And they stood before the altar, it caused them lots of 
pain 

To find there was a "hitch" in the proceeding. 

— 70 — 



ARCHBISHOP JANS9KNS 

There came before the great white throne 
A soul from earth just free; 

And God called, in commanding tone : 
"His record bring to Me." 

And unto where the King doth sit, 
They brought the book wherein 
Each act of man on earth is writ, 
Each good deed, and each sin. 

The Eye sought first the credit page ; 
O'er Righteousness did scan; 
Saw Truth writ there since early age ; 
Saw Love of fellow-man ; 

It gazed on Anger held at bay; 
Marked Charity divine; 
Beheld temptation bidden "nay;" 
And Honor's graven sign. 

Saw Piety's unchanging reign ; 

Humility discerned; 
Marked Fortitude 'neath sorest pain; 

On Faith's inscription turned. 

And so on, straight along the page, 

The credit entries ran, 
All showing how, on life's broad stage, 

He'd play the perfect man. 

And then adown the debit side, 

The judging Vision sank; 
There, not an entry it descried — 

For, lo! the page was blank. 

— 71 — 



EUGENE FIELD 

Lay him down gently, 

Him whose refrain 
Spoke eloquently, 

Not to the brain, 
Not to man's reasoning — 

Mission of Art — 
But, with love's seasoning, 

Straight to the heart. 

Scatter the flowers 

Over the bier 
Of him whose hours 

Spent with us here, 
Each one succeeding, 

Brought from his pen 
Sweetest of pleading — 

Gentlest of men! 

Place here his dollies, 

Lassies and lads — 
Simplest of follies — 

Mildest of fads- 
Here in his coffin, 

Here where he lies, 
They who so often 

Gladdened his eyes- . 

Here but his semblance — still, 

Life- vanished clay; 
Here but remembrance will 

Keep him alway. 
Voices that spoke in him 

Tremblingly fled 
When the heart broke in him, 

Leaving him dead. 

-.72 — 



Peacefully sleeping, 

There as he lay, 
Azrael, weeping, 

Bade him away; 
Saw he the beckoning, 

Heard the award; 
Gone to his reckoning, 

Gone to his Lord. 

Lay him beneath here, 

Under the sod; 
Twine but a wreath here- 

Leave him to God. 
From scenes terrestrial 

Gone to his home; 
Mid joys celestial 

Ever to roam. 



ERBOUT RILEY 

Glad ter know 'at Riley's better, 

An' his time haint come; 
Thought at fus' 'at he would git er 

Call ter go up hum; 
But th' doctor an' good nussin' 

Kep' oF death at bay; 
Don't know nowt 'at would be wuss'n 

Takin' Jim erway. 

FieF went ter er better climate, 

Bill Nye follered him, 
An' et shorely seemed thit time 'at 

Nex' ud go our Jim. 
An' et set my heart ter grievin' 

Wen he took th' spell; 
But, thank th' Lord, th' pain is leaving- 

Jim is gittin' well. 

— 71 — 



HE HAD NO HARD FEMLINGS 

You see that woman coming, Jack, dressed up in pink 

and gray? 
Well, that's a woman whom I loved in times now passed 

away. 
I used to visit her each night and write her every day, 
And words of burning, eager love to her I'd often say. 
I'd take her out to parties and to many a matinee; 
Would send her every week or so a costly big bouquet ; 
Large sums out of my salary I cheerfully would pay 
For buggy rides and such like things, to make our court- 
ship gay. 
Well, after all I'd done for her, this same young maid, 

Miss May, 
Although her parents stern had said to such a marriage, 

Nay, 
Packed up her clothes together and skipped lightly 

out one day, 
And wedded a young fellow down at Narragansett Bay. 
Well, good-by, Jack; she's coming and with her I must 

stray. 
You may say that you're astonished that a word to her 

I'd say ; 
That I should coldly snub and scorn such a deceitful fay ; 
But don't you see? I am the man with whom she ran 

away. 



A PL.EA FOR MISS KEY 

Oh, say, can we see, with no effort to stay it, 
Our dead poet's grandchild in poverty live? 

Hear Charity's voice and yet fail to obey it, 
When it pleads for relief we should gratefully give? 

— 74 — 



Have gratitude's promptings and patriot ardor 
No place in the hearts of the brave and the free, 

That we unhelping view the fast-emptying larder 
That lies 'twixt starvation and the daughter of Key? 

Let Rememb'rance bring to us the often-told story 

Of how Key, when the gloom of the night cleared 
away. 
Strained his eyes through the mist and beheld in its 
glory 

The banner that waved at the close of the day ; 
Of how, rendering thanks to the God of all battles, 

The bard to the country the thrilling tale gave, 
That the roar and the din and the musketry's rattle 

Had still left unlowered the flag of the brave. 

And must he whose verses will deathless live ever, 

Behold from high heaven his offspring below 
Fight vainly 'gainst hunger, with no single endeavor 

On the part of his country to ward off the foe? 
Will we, sons of those he encouraged to vanquish, 

With the help of the Lord, the grim forces of 
Wrong, 
Permit now the child of the poet to languish, 

Who wrote for his comrades that soul-fhrilling 
song? 

No, no, and thrice no! for so long as remaineth 

The spark of Rememb'rance in patriot breast. 
So long as the bright sun of Freedom ne'er waneth, 

Nor the goddess of Liberty lowers her crest, 
So long as we love and revere our grand nation — 

The land of the brave and the home of the free — 
No cloud of despair and no gloom of starvation 

Shall chill with their shadow the blood of a Key. 



76 ~ 



DIED AT THE THROTTLE 

To the Hero, Arthur Vitter, Who Lost His Life at 

His Post of Duty, July 8, 1896. 
Dead 1 with his hand on the throttle! " 

Dead ! the last thought in his mind, 
To save from the threatened destruction 

The lives in the coaches behind ! 
Dead! when a jump from the engine 

Would have spared him to children and wife! 
Dead! and the death of the martyr, 

With duty far dearer than life ! 

Dead! with his hand on the throttle! 

Dead! at his everyday post! 
Dead! with all self-thoughts behind him, 

And his duty to others foremost! 
Dead ! while his wife and his offspring 

Were peacefully sleeping abed, 
With no thought that a few furlongs distant, 

The husband and father lay dead! 

Dead ! though instinctively nature 

Bade him the lever let go, 
And save for his children their father, 

His honor and manhood said "No !" 
Dead ! and no death in the battle, 

'Mid the sound of the minie's ball whiz, 
And the crash of the musketry's rattle, 

More brave or more noble than his ! 

Dead ! when they found him, the lever 
Still clasped in his poor, mangled hand ! 

Dead! with the quick ear forever 
Closed to the voice of command ! 

Dead ! with the eyes ever watchful 
'Gainst danger, upturned to the sky! 

-76- 



Dead ! and his dying a lesson 
To show how a hero can die ! 

Dead ! and no heaven-sent warning, 

When he bade all his loved ones good-by 
And left for his post in the morning, 

That death's cruel angel was nigh ! 
Dead! When he kissed in their sleeping 

The infants that owed him their birth, 
No thought in his fatherly bosom, 

He saw them the last time on earth ! 

Dead ! Move ye over, Jim Bludsoe, 

While we place this brave man by your side! 
Dead ! Mark, ye angels recording, 

In your ledger, "For others he died!" 
Dead ! but, ye widow and orphans, 

Let this thought your earth-solace be, 
There is in the land far above us, 

No death for such heroes as he! 



TO LITTLE KATHLEEN ON HER FIRST ANNIVERSARY 



K ind Heaven shower benisons upon this baby girl ! 

A nd angels ever guard her onward way ! 

T hrough the years that come unto her in old Time's 

resistless whirl, 
H appiness, I trust, will hold unquestioned sway ! 
Long and joyful may her life be on this gray old earth 

below ! 
E very blessing known to mortals be her share ! 
E very sorrow stay far from her — and may darkest sin 

and woe 
N ever cloud her sky of life now beaming fair! 

— 77 — 



TO JLITTLE ETHEL LUCE 

Would you go, little girl, to a faraway land, 

Many, many miles over the sea, 
Where all that is nice is placed close to our hand, 

And life is as glad as can be? 
Where the floors of the houses are made out of pies, 

And the nails are all chocolate creams, 
Where the walls are of cake, and the windows like- 
wise — 

In the beautiful country of Dreams. 

Oh, the doors are all made out of ice cream, I'm told, 

And the keys out of strawberry tarts; 

While the sills are bananas, as yellow as gold, 

And the hinges are peppermint hearts; 
And all round about this fair land, I've heard say, 

There are wonderful fountains and streams, 
Which flow nothing but nectar and cream the whole 
day — 

In that beautiful country of Dreams. 

As for fruits, there are plenty, and all of the best; 

There are cherry trees, apple trees, fig, 
And pears and pecans till you really can't rest, 

And melons enormously big; 
And of all of these fruits, and these candies and such, 

You can take what you want, for it seems 
There never comes sickness from eating too much, 

In that beautiful country of Dreams. 

And playthings abound till I'm sure you would think 
There were millions there, lining the shelves; 

There are dollies that talk, and dollies that wink, 
And dollies that walk by themselves; 

There are dear little buggies to take the dolls out, 
Drawn along by the cutest of teams; 

- 7 8- 

s 



And a whole lot of other toys scattered about 
In that beautiful country of Dreams. 

So you'd like to go there, little maiden, you say; 

Well, come here and sit on my knee, 
With your soft hand in mine, and your curly head lay 

Right here on my breast, and we'll see 
As we rock to and fro in this great big armchair, 

That so cozy and comforting seems, 
How long it will take me to carry you there. 

To that beautiful country of Dreams. 



BERTIE SNEED 

The Angel Death came from above, 

Nor went he back alone. 
But took with him a noble man, 

To stand before God's throne. 

And there be asked: "Didst ever thou. 

In that great world below, 
Harbor one single evil thought?" 

The truthful answer, "No." 

"Didst ever thou ofrend thy God?" 

His wise laws disobey? 
Or raise thy hand 'gainst fellowman?" 

Again the answer, "Nay." 

"Whom hast thou left upon the earth 

That can an injury done 
W^ith righteous charge lay at thy door?" 

Once more the answer, "None." 

His life was pure and undefiled, 

Of triuh a perfect poem; 
The ones who grieve not o'er his death 

Are the ones who did not know him. 

— 79 — 



TO BUbA BENTLEY, JR. 

I am told that your debut you're making, 
Leaving - all of your childhood behind, 

And that up to the fact you're awaking, 
You belong to grown-up womankind. 

You are going to shed your short dresses, 
And the ecstatic pleasure to feel 

That the female heart always confesses, 
The first time the skirts reach the heel. 

I suppose you'll leave off "Little Ella;" 
"It's Miss Bentley, if you please, sir;" 

And woe to the unlucky fellow 
Who otherwise dares to aver. 

I know you'll have fun at your party; 

Even this long beforehand I hear 
The laughter ring out, gay and hearty; 

The music falls soft on my ear; 

I see all those fresh, youthful faces, 
Those dainty frocks flecking the green. 

While above, from her highest of places, 
Mild Luna beams down on the scene. 

No rain comes to bring to you sorrow, 

Dame April, I feel safe to say, 
Will keep back her tears for tomorrow, 

And only send smiles for today. 

For though, like all the sex, she's capricious, 
She is not known for cruelty, too; 

And I'm certain she'll not be so vicious 
As to spoil a young maiden's debut. 

— 80 — 



I don't know your hopes for the future, 
But I trust that the oncoming time 

Will always be such as to suit you. 

(What think you of that for a rhyme?) 

I hope all the joys of your dreaming, 

In the world where you're going to move, 

Will fall shorter, far, in the seeming, 
Than they will in reality prove ; 

That your plans as to balls and receptions, 

And shopping, and beaux, and, indeed. 
As to pleasures of every description, 

Are fulfilled to the farthest of meed- 
Just here I am told by the madam — • 

Always woman's province it is 
Since the days of our grandfather Adam, 

To mix up in her husband's biz — 

That I'm getting off of my trolley ; 

(Though her language is much more refined) 
That my style is the least bit too jolly, 

And she simply would call to my mind. 

That my verses should read more sedately; 

That you're now a grown-up young miss ; 
And that odes should be lofty and stately, 

Writ on an occasion like this. 

Don't I know — and her accents are laden 

W r ith sarcasms sharp as a knife — 
That her debut is, to a young maiden. 

An important time of her life? 

And my lines I should make more befitting; 
With more gravity they should be penned ; 

— 81 — 



For it wouldn't be nice if, unwitting, 
Your amour propre I should offend. 

But I tell Mrs. C, very gently, 

(Ain't I brave to thus dare to demur?) 

That she doesn't know Ella Bentley; 

That there's nothing that's grave about her; 

That she's a maid, sprightly and charming, 

And sedateness is never her mood; 
That she's none of those objects, alarming, 

That are known as "bluestocking" and "prude;" 

And further I go on to tell her, 

That I one advantage possess: 
And that is, that I've met Miss Ella, 

And from what I saw of her I guess 

My verse isn't going to rile her; 

That, to make my position secure, 
I'll send her a package of Huyler, 

Which will my forgiveness insure. 

Great Scot! I had better be shaking 

My pen — my typewriter I mean — 
For so prolix I am I'll be making 

You tired of reading, I ween. 

My kindest regards to your mother 

And father; to the others, to-wit: 
Your dear old grandma, and your brother. 

To remember me, please, don't omit, 

And now, are you good at divining? 

Can you tell that this note comes from me? 
You can? Well, I'll simply be signing, 

Sincerely, Your friend, C. J. C. 

— 82 — 



AN ACKLNOWLEDGiVIENT 

(To Miss V. G- L., respectfully) 

Many thanks for your kind invitation, 

Inviting my presence "at eyghte 
Of ye clocke in ye halle of ye Newcombes,' 

To take part in your First of May fete. 
I'm sorry I couldn't attend it; 

Were my evening not chartered elsewhere, 
There's no place whereat I could spend it 

With greater enjoyment than there. 

I trust that of frolic and pleasure, 

Of joy and happiness glad, 
Of mirth and of music, full measure 

Yourself and your co-students had ; 
And I'm certain your guests a more jolly 

Entertainment have never yet found, 
For in whose breast could reign melancholy 

Whenever a Newcomb's around? 

I'm sure the way time went on slipping 
Must a wonder have been to you all, 

And made you believe you'd caught tripping 
Ye sturdy old clocke in ye halle; 

And when the first streaks of the morrow 
Began to illumine the sky, 

I know there were accents of sorrow 

In the soft voices saying "Good-by." 

My muse, without why, without wherefore, 
Here 'bids me this rhyming to cease ; 

She's a woman, you know, miss, and therefore 
Just chockfull of whim and caprice. 

In vain I reproach and reprove her 
In the effort these lines to complete, 

-8 3 - 



Being female, there's naught that can move her, 
So farewell to meter and feet. 

Just as I, feeling sore discontented, 

My name was about to append 
To this verse, the stern ladye consented 

To just four more lines ere I end; 
So I'll use them in wishing God's blessing 

Will your bonny head shelter alway, 
That the years which about you come pressing, 

Will be one perennial May Day. 



LITTLE WATSON SKARDON DAUBERT 

I know a little boy down town, whose parents call him 

Buddy; 
With hair and eyes of darkest brown, and cheeks so 

very ruddy, 
That one might well mistake them for a pair of twin 

red roses ; 
The cutest smile you ever saw, the sauciest of noses. 

I used to meet him every eve, when homeward I'd be 

walking, 
And, really, you would scarce believe how apt he is 

at talking; 
One day I missed him from his place, the next to him 

complaining, 
Said he, with such a sober face, "I touldn't turn ; 'twas 

waining." 

He gets more sturdy every day, in outer self and inner, 
His parents say he puts away an awful lot of dinner; 
Just ask him where his breakfast flies, and you ought 
to see the comic, 

-84- 



Look on his face as he replies, "It doze down to my 
tommic." 

He used to be the baby till one day there came another, 
But yet no jealousy does fill his heart against his 

brother; 
He says that his mamma may take both Vivian and 

Gladys 
As her two babes, his heart won't ache, because he'll 

just be daddy's 

To tell all his perfections is far, far beyond a poet; 
He says that I'm a friend of his, and glad I am to 

know it; 
And I hope that as the swift years go, there ever will 

be ready 
Bright angels round his head to show the pathway 

straight and steady. 



TO CORBETT 

I never did like ye, Jim Corbett, 

Sence th' day ye made Sullivan fall, 

Thet ef ye was licked in th' ring. 
Ye'd say ye was out o' condition. 

Or he fouled ye, or some sicher thing; 
But ye didn't make no sich claim, Corbett, 

But come out, like er good hones' man, 
'N' said thet Bob done ye up fairly : 

'N' I'd like ter take ye by th' han\ 
'N' tell ye thet ye've got more pop'lar, 

Sence ye're licked, by yer straightforward talk, 
Than ye ever hev been, Jim, or would be 

Ef ve'd licked red-head Bob in er walk. 



85 



JIM RILEY 

Yew know Jim Riley? Course yew know him. 
Wat's thet ? Yew never heer'n tell uv our Jim ? 
Whar yew bin livin' all th' time, man, 
Yew don't know Jim Riley, th' bes' in th' Ian' ? 

Bes' w'at? Bes' poet. Swanny! yew're grene, 
Is James Whitcomb Riley th' party I meen ? 
Wall, the's wa't peepul wat's stuck-up calls him, 
But folkses w'at luvs him jes' knows him ez Jim. 

Thet's nuthin', nohow. Th' man is th' same, 
An I've heerd sum wun say ez thar's nowt in er name ; 
Don't keer w'at yew calls him, yew gotter konfess 
Thet uv all th' vuss-riters, our Jim is th' bes'. 

W'y, yew know w'at thet same feller Riley kin do? 
He kin take yure ol' hat or er battered up shoe, 
An' rite yew er vuss 'bout th' doggone ol' things 
Thet'll fetch out the teers like th' water from springs. 

An' he wunst rit er peece 'bout er feller w'at lay 
Ez sick ez cud be in his bed, an' wun day 
Er passel uv all sorts uv flowers cum in, 
An' th' site uv 'em mos' made him git up ergin. 

Wall, sir, thet pome — I ain't tellin' no lies, 
Et mos made th' water ercum ter my eyes, 
Th' fus' time I red et, an' I 'marked ter my wife, 
I hain't never seen wun more trooer ter life. 

Thet's th' reesun I likes him, thet same Riley man, 
'Cause he rites in er way thet we all on'erstan' ; 
He ain't hifalutin' an' fon uv big words, 
An' his pomes is ez nat-ral ez th' songs uv th' birds. 

— 86 — 



Yas, sir, he's my fren' ; thet's w'at Jim Riley is, 
An' noboddy's potry's better'n his; 
Shakespeer hisself wuzn't in it 'ith him, 
An nun uv th' res' kin' kompare 'ith our Jim. 



TO LITTLE ALICE LAZARUS 

Where the summer sun is shining on the waters of the 
bay, 
And the winds are soughing softly through the trees; 
Where the music of the mocker and the robin's 
roundelay 
Come to us on the odor-laden breeze ; 
Where there sounds the gentle splashing of the waves 
upon the strand, 
And the fleecy clouds above so far away 
Seem as if they're smiling blessings on the water and 
the land, 
There roams Alice, little Alice, blue-eyed Alice at the 
bay. 

Her heart is glad and care free, and her laughter rings 
aloud, 
As she roams the white sands at the close of day. 
May the bright sky of her future never know a darkened 
cloud, 
May grim Sorrow from her bosom stay away. 
Through the years that stretch before her, as she lies 
in tired sleep, 
Or as gaily on she romps in childish play, 
May great God depute an angel, faithful watch and 
ward to keep 
Over Alice, little Alice, blue-eyed Alice at the Bay. 



87 



A DREAM 

Methought a message to and fro 
Across our continent did go, 
That brought with it a tale of woe 
To rich, to poor, to high, to low ; 
That forced the tear from Age's eye, 
And caused the infant's breast to sigh — 
And this is all the message said : 
"Jim Riley's dead." 

Methought I walked into the day; 
The skies above were leaden gray; 
The glowing sun had hid away; 
The mocker hushed his thrilling lay; 
The sturdy oaks were bare and drear; 
The meadow grass was dry and sere — 
For hither had the message sped : 
"Jim Riley's dead." 

Methought a garden erstwhile fair 
I traversed — dahlias withered there; 
The violet lost its odor rare; 
No more the rose perfumed the air ; 
The lillies rotted on the stem ; 
The pansies' hues had flown from them — 
Here, also, was the message read : 
"Jim Riley's dead." 

And then I woke — the sun shone down; 
I heard the mocker's sweetest sound; 
Bright flowers sprang up from the ground ; 
And all was peace and joy around; 
And as upon my dream I dwelt, 
I prayed, as reverent I knelt : 

"May not, till many years have sped, 

The message come, 'Jim Riley's dead.' 

— 88 — 



TO RILEY 

I hope God'll bless ye, Jim Riley, 

And let ye stay with us fer years, 
Ter make people happy an* smily, 

An' keep 'em from sorrow an' tears. 
Ye've did lots o' good with yer writin', 

In this wicked ol' worl' here below, 
Fer yer pomes is so soft an' invitin' 

Thet their readin' makes misery go. 

Wen er man's out o' work an' despairin', 

Cause he kaint git er job in th' town, 
An so desprit he isn't a-carin' 

How soon death comes strollin' eroun', 
Ef he only will read Armazindy, 

Or some other good pomes ye hev did, 
His troubles '11 fly out th' windy, 

An' comfort '11 fly in instid. 

I haint never met ye, Jim Riley; 

But from w'at I hev read from yer pen, 
There's none thet I vally more highly, 

An' I jes' think o' ye ez er fren'. 
Ye mus' be er big-hearted person, 

Ter write in th' way ye hev writ, 
An' there's so much o' good in yer versin' 

Thet o' badness ye kaint hev er bit. 



SOMETHING WRONG 

For hours he debated the matter, 
Then in accents of triumph averred : 
"There's something wrong in the arrangement, 
For an Auditor shouldn't be Heard." 

-89- 



TO EUGENE FIELD 

In T.-D. here of recent date, 

A writer seemed to throw the weight 

Of blame for all the downpour great 

That fell on us so much of late, 

Upon your poor, defenseless pate, 

In language angry, passionate, 

The poet seemed to intimate 

The height of your ambition great 

Was to ride around in golden state, 

In your gondola, and, elate, 

Gaze on the floods that you'd create 

By opening wide the watery gate 

Of clouds above to inundate 

The streets of this our city great. 

Don't stand it, 'GENE. Retaliate 

On him who wildly did berate 

And blame you for the cruel fate 

That nearly drowned us out of late, 

Since you have been within our State. 

Of course, it is unfortunate 

That, since your coming, torrents great 

Have fallen down both soon and late, 

While we've no hope immediate 

That soon the rainfall will abate. 

But, still, why should you bear the weight 

Why visit now on your poor pate 

Dire vengeance for our watery fate? 

The T.-D.'s read all o'er the State, 

And "H. R.'s" poem published late 

Will hold you up to public hate, 

Unless you soon eradicate 

The feeling that your strongest trait 

Is to throw open wide the gate, 

And let in rain interminate. 

— 90 — 



Do not dally. Hit out straight, 

And quickly now annihilate, 

With your sarcasm's well-known weight, 

This poet who thus dares to prate, 

And seeks, with malice insensate, 

To tarnish o'er your merits great. 



TO A GIRL GRADUATE 

M ay the years that stretch before thee naught but joy 

unto thee bring, 
A nd may Peace's fairest songsters through thy life 

forever sing! 
R ound thy head may radiant angels scatter lavishly 

their flowers; 
I n a world of endless pleasure mayst thou pass thy 

earthly hours! 
E ver guileless may thy heart be, may the path that thou 

must stray 
B e as free from clouds and sorrows as the brightest 

day of May; 
E ver may the fire of faith within thy girlish bosom 

flame; 
N ever mayst thou know of trouble or of sin, except by 

name! 
E vil, with its thousand offsprings, may it never o'er 

thy life 
D rop its grim, unwholesome shadow, and may all the 

care and strife 
I n this wicked world stay from thee ! May all love and 

tenderness 
C heer thine onward travels, maiden, and may God thy 

future bless! 

— 91 — 



TO STANLEY MATTHEWS LAZARUS 

Oh, come, little laddie, and list to my lay, 
While I tell of a sight that I witnessed one day; 
Last Thursday, I think at a quarter to four 
The Noah's Ark lay upside down on the floor, 
And I simply sat idling the time in my chair, 
Gazing dreamily down on the animals there, 

When I heard such a roar 

Coming up from the floor, 
I confess I was never so frightened before. 

I gazed on a scene of confusion and strife, 

But reversed from the usual order in life, 

For the lamb, springing up with a terrible bleat, 

Knocked the big lion right off of his feet; 

The deer struck the tiger so fearful a blow 

That it caused all the blood from the latter to flow, 

While the rat shook the cat 

All over the mat, 
And proceeded to eat him — now, just think of that ! 

The rabbit jumped up with the fear fullest frown, 

And with one mighty stroke knocked the elephant 

down; 
The little Spitz dog, so curly and white, 
Beat the big leopard with all of his might; 
The calf and the wildcat were fighting away, 
And the calf of the two had the best of the fray, 

While the mouse pulled the horse 

All over the course, 
And the pig kicked the bear with a terrible force. 

Imagine my feelings, my lad, as I sat 

In the midst of a scene of confusion like that ! 

I was chockful of trembles and quivers and chills; 

— 92 — 



My hair stood on end like a porcupine's quills ; 
My cheeks were as white as they ever could be, 
And the cold perspiration was pouring from me 

In a torrent-like stream, 

Till I gave such a scream 
That I woke up and found it was only a dream. 



AN EASTER CAROL 

T his purse of mine, that oft of old 

E nclosed, I vow, 
H uge sums of greenbacks and of gold, 

R esembles now 
A pancake made in early morn 

B y cook sedate, 
T he master's gaze to feast upon 

O n breakfast plate. 

Egad! you want to know just why 

N ow it's so flat ; 
A nd just what causes me to sigh — 

No secret, that ! 
S can closely these few lines of verse ; 

E xpounded there 
T he cause you'll find of this slim purse, 

T his worried air. 



A NEW YEAR WISH 

T hat the sun of prosperity ever may shine 

O 'er thy path, is the wish in this bosom of mine ! 

H ard times, may they never, with touch unbenign, 
Wither those well-deserved laurels of thine! 

E ver may the green bay leaves, success' ensign, 
L ie close to thy brow and thy forehead entwine ! 

— 93 — 



TO LITTLE EUDON LAZARUS 

So you want me to write you some verses ; 

Well, Til tell you, my brave little man, 
I'll appeal to my Muse's kind mercies, 

And do for you all that I can; 
But, though I've been eagerly straining 

For a subject, just now none appears 
That is likely to prove entertaining 

To a lad of your immature years. 

I'd write a few lines on your pony 

But that's an old story to you ; 
He's a nice one, seems fast, isn't bony, 

But there's nothing about him that's new, 
Or that you would want me to mention; 

You both know his good points and bad ; 
So I won't give him any attention, 

For it wouldn't amuse you, my lad. 

Then, again, I would write of your school days, 

Of your books and your playmates and all, 
Of the lessons which come with the cool days 

That ought to accompany fall, 
Were it not that you're fresh from vacation, 

And it scarcely would cause you to smile 
To read o'er a long dissertation 

On school — that is, just for a while. 

I won't write a child's allegory, 

Because you're a little too old 
To care for that sort of a story, 

Which should only to infants be told. 
So, in trying a favor to do you, 

Just see what a fix I am in, 
Attempting to write verses to you, 

Which I hardly know how to begin. 

— 94 — 



However, I'll do this much for you, 

And I do it with pleasure, my boy; 
I'll hope that no trouble conies o'er you, 

Nor sorrow, nor sin, nor annoy; 
That when years have come and departed, 

And Time's fingers wrinkle your brow, 
You'll still be as gay and light-hearted 

And as pure and as sinless as now. 



TO AMELIE FORTEER, EMMA BENEDIC AND 
LOUISE PISEROS 

A ngels guard thee, little maidens, with thy happy, 

smiling faces ! 
M ay thy lives be pure and spotless as thy white commu- 
nion laces! 
E yes that beam with childish pleasure, may they ne'er 

be dimmed with weeping! 
L et bright cherubs hover round thee, daily, nightly 

vigils keeping! 
I nnocent mayst thou continue as thou seemed'st before 

the altar! 
E nvy, sin, and sorrow, may they never cause thy steps 

to falter! 
E ver may thy thoughts be upward unto Heaven's Ruler 

reaching ! 
M ayst thou ne'er forget the precepts of religion's holy 

teaching ! 
M ayst thou ne'er forget the happy day that first thou 

took'st communion ! 
A nd its mem'ry, may it cheer thee till thy souls with 

God seek union ! 
L ove and tenderness surround thee through the future's 

lengthened hours 
O ? er thy heads descend God's blessings as the dewdrop^ 

o'er the flowers ! 

— 95 — 



Unto Heaven I commend thee; mayst thou meet with 

love and favor 
I n the eyes of great Jehovah ! May His Son, our 

blessed Saviour, 
S hed o'er thee His kind protection, and may His great 

love avail thee 
E very time foul sin approaches or temptations sore 

assail thee! 



THREE LITTLE MAIDS 

(Dedicated to the Misses Piseros.) 

Three little maidens do I know, 
All with hearts as pure as snow, 
All with brows undimmed by care, 
All with happy, joyous air. 
Perle and Delphine and Louise, 
Sweet little maidens all are these; 
All without a single thought 
In their breasts of evil wrought; 
Never a harsh or unkind word 
From their innocent lips is heard; 
Never a frown or sulky air 
Takes its place on their faces fair; 
Never a thought to disobey 
To their minds can find a way; 
Never a jealous, selfish mood 
Show these maids, nor manner rude; 
Never *a laugh at age or woe 
'Scapes these maidens whom I know 
Careful they with smaller child, 
Kind and gentle, meek and mild; 
All as modest as can be — 
Three little lovely maidens, three. 

-96- 



A ZE MADEMOISELLE EVE 

I fin' me un fault wiz ze way 

Yo' write een zat Democrat pape'; 
Eet go'ne mek mon cheveux be gray, 

En breeng a mon maison ze crepe. 
My wife she want mek every day 

Ces diner fo' w'ich yo' bin spik, 
Mais, how kin we leeve een zat way 

On settlement dix dollar' un wik? 

Yo' write een zat pape' 'bout consomme, 

Wiz aigs zat be poach' — zat's un shem 
How kin yo* expec' un pauvre homme 

Lak me, ees go'ne pairchaise ze sem? 
Morbleau ! Pensez-vous zat my boss 

Ze salary I git go'ne raise, 
So I eat zat spring lamb wiz mint sauce 

Or zat lettuce zat got mayonnaise? 

En mirliton stuff' wiz ze shrimp, 

Cream' carrot' en Hamburger stek, 
Ees yo' zink I kin buy sings lak zem 

Wiz zem petit diz dollar' I mek? 
En cream' apple tart! Sapristi! 

Eef yo' want me to eat zat diner, 
Eet go'ne tek my week's salary, oui, 

Fo' pairchase ze meal fo' one day. 

En spose zat ze rent I pay not, 
Yo' know w'at my landlord go'ne do? 
He go'ne tek all zem sings zat I got, 

En put zem right out een la rue. » 
En how ze car fare I go'ne pay, 

En buy les souliers fo' ma fille, 
En git me ze lunch every day, 
Eef I spen' tout I'argent on zem meal'? 

— 97 — 



My wife say yo' smart en bright, 

En I sink so moi-meme, mais, ma f oi ! 
I don't lak ze way zat yo' write, 

W'ich mek too much trouble pour moi. 
Pourquoi yo' no do w'at be nice, 

En stop all zat 'ristocrat tork, 
En write bout ze beans en ze rice, 

En ze cabbage zat go wiz ze pork ? 



TO LITTLE EMMA 

I sing you a song of a dear little girl , 

Whose eyes are of mischievous brown, 
And whose rich locks defy in belligerent curl 

The comb that would fain keep them down; 
Whose sweet little lips are cherriest red, 

Whose cheeks have the tint of the peach, 
As she races away with no hat on her head, 

O'er the lake, on Biloxi's white beach. 

You should hear her recite, standing up on the floor, 

A piece that has in it all through 
Big words of three syllables, sometimes of more, 

That you'd never imagine she knew; 
And with such a wise look on her six-year-old face, 

That's as cunning as cunning can be, 
You'd declare that a maid with more beauty and grace 

You never have seen than she. 

Of course you will know, and 'tis needless to say 

That she is the boss of the house, 
For papa and mamma and grandma obey 

Every wish of the dear little mouse; 
But still, I have never yet heard them complain, 

Or unto her orders say nay, 
For who could dislike to forever remain 

'Neath such a sweet baby girl's sway? 

-98- 



CHRISTMAS TIDE 

C areworn am I, and full of woe, 

S ad, too, because 
H e with the beard as white as snow ; 

B rave Santa Claus, 
R oams 'round again, with tripping feet, 

U nkind old crook ! 
I n glee to help poor me deplete 

This pocketbook. 

S ay, tell me what I've done to thee, 

O man so gray! 
T hat thou shouldst this way worry me 

N ighttime and day. 
M y wages are not very high, 

C an you not see ? 
A nd thought of all that must buy ' 

E nrages me. 

S on Ralph will want a gun that shoots, 

And Tom a ball; 
C ute Meg will want an owl that hoots, 

Y seulte, a doll. 
O scar will ask a pony, and 

E mma'll caress 
M e for a hat ; Sue will demand 

A silken dress ; 
E ach servant will, with outstretched hand, 

R ound 'bout me press. 

And yet, in spite of all my woes. 

I'm glad, as this acrostic shows, 

(Though it may bring a world of cheer) 

That CHRISTMAS COMES BUT ONCE A YEAR. 

— 99 — 



TO TWO PRINCIPALS 

• 

And so, when we figure it up, it appears 

You've been tutoring children for twenty-five years; 

You're teaching the infant idea to shoot 

For a couple of decades and five years to boot; 

And we wonder, as you retrospectively look 

On a century's quarter of rod and of book, 

Was it fuller of pleasures or fuller of tears, 

This schoolroom existence of twenty-five years? 

We wonder, the number of rulers you've used 

And worn out on kids whom your patience abused! 

You've seen lads come in, in the babiest clothes, 

And depart with the hair sprouting under the nose; 

You've tutored a many a pinafored maid v 

Who now is a matron, so sober and staid — 

In all sorts and kinds of conditions and spheres 

Are the children you've taught in your twenty-five years. 

Perchance, when some child showed a mischievous bend, 
You've been finally forced for his parents to send; 
With the solemnest air you have seen them stalk in 
And deplore that their child should commit such a sin, 
And your memory flew back to the trouble you had 
With that same severe parent as lassie or lad, 
And their dignified words sounded strange in your 

ears — 
Oh ! you must have had fun in your twenty-five years. 

To sum it all up, we can't be very wrong, 

When we say that you wouldn't have been here so long, 

Had you found the work mean or unpleasant to do; 

And, therefore, the worst that we wish for you two 

Is twenty-five years more of girlies and boys, 

With love for their studies and hatred of noise, 

— ioo — 



For miracles often occur, it appears, 

And there may be some in your next twenty-five years. 



THAT AWFUL NAME OF MINE 

(Respectfully Dedicated to Miss M. G.) 
The bard made an error quite grievous, 

When he said there was naught in a name ; 
For mine is a horrid old nuisance, 

And tired am I of the same. 

I'm jolly; my friends say I'm pretty, 

And my mirror, too, says that's the truth ; 

My hair would delight the great Titian, 
And my form has the graces of youth. 

But still I am sad; my cognomen 

Is, indeed, a most horrible fright ; 
Its multiple "gs" make me shiver, 

And no one pronounces it right. 

If I were an heiress with millions, 

I'd give all my money and more 
To get rid of this terrible nightmare — 

The name that my forefathers bore. 

Would it not be too perfectly lovely, 

If some handsome young man, brave and kind, 
Would say : "Be my wife, my own dearest, 

And swap your mean surname for mine?" 

I've made up my mind that I'll marry 

The very first lover that came ; 
I'd wed with a Smith or a Muggins, 

Just to change my most hideous name. 

— 101 — 



TO SIDNEY HEINEMAN 

Sweet Sidney, 'tis of thee, 
Supernate prodigy, 

Of thee I sing! 
Long may that classic head, 
Crowned with those waves of red, 
Its rays effulgent shed 

On everything. 

Ah ! When I see thee now, 
With calm, unruffled brow, 

O noble Sid ! 
Give good advice to men, 
Then deftly charge a ten, 
I think of that time when 

You were a kid. 

How oft that brilliant verve, 
That live and dauntless nerve, 

Have been my joy ! 
How oft, with gentle grace, 
And smooth, impassive face, 
Thou cam'st from tightest place, 

O wondrous boy! 

I gaze back on the past, 
And in my mind are massed, 

In endless line, 
Thoughts of the things which you 
With superb gall would do, 
To glad our office crew, 

In auld lang syne. 

Let Spain through Weyler's guile, 
Hold on to Cuba's isle, 
Till skies do fall, 

— 1 102 — 



Let Vic keep England's throne, 
The Czar make Russia groan, 
So long as thou dost own 
So much of Gaul. 

Tis sad our country has 
No stuff impervious as 

The cheek you've got, 
Else could it be applied, 
Should war our land betide, 
To line each vessel's side, 

To keep off shot. 

And when thou're near the bier, 
And which for many a year, 

I hope won't be, 
To others wealth bequeath, 
'Twill serve them less to grieve ; 
But I beg thee only leave 

Thy gall to me. 



TO EDNA 

E dna fair, with blue eyes shining 

D impled cheek and brownest hair, 

N ever may woe or repining 

A round thee come, nor grimmest care ! 

M ay thy childish laughter, ringing 

C heerily throughout the day, 

G lad our hearts for years — thy singing 

R ound our home be heard alway ! 

E ver may great God unto thee 

E ager angel guardians give, 

V igils keeping daily through the 

Y ears that yet thou hast to live. 

— 103 — 



TO MARIE 



Fair Marie, I'll teach you bike riding 

At night, upon the avenue; 
Guard you 'gainst falling or colliding, 

And carefully watch over you. 
Although your wobbling wheel may task me, 

I'll patient be at breaks you make; 
But, please, young lady, do not ask me, 

I beg of you, to try your cake. 



ui, pioasc, yuung iciuy, uu i 

I beg of you, to try your 



You surely made it to look pretty, 

With frosted sugar scattered round; 
But I'm afraid, oh, more's the pity ! 

Dyspepsia lurks in its compound. 
I must confess the stately beauty 

Of its tout ensemble pleases me; 
But, then, it is my primal duty 

To guard my own good health, Marie. 

The frozen cheam cheese I will venture; 

Your mother made it, and I know 
Its make up will deserve no censure, 

Nor leave an aftermath of woe. 
But I've two children and a wife, miss, 

For whom I must a living make, 
So, therefore, I can't risk my life, miss, 

By tackling that most deadly cake. 

Of course, I know it will displease you 
To have me thus decline a slice, 

But, really, I don't mean to tease you, 
But act on medical advice. 

There are many youngsters who adore you 
Just make them eat it, if you can, 

But don't try to force it, I implore you, 
On me, a steady married man. 

— 104 — 



THE NEW ORLEANS GIRL 

(Dedicated to All of Them.) 

Other bards may indite their verse to the night, 

Or the waves dashing high on the coast, 
May chant forth their lays to the soft summer days, 

Or to battles of host against host; 
To the flowers and trees, or the spring's balmy breeze, 

Or to brooks that through forest scenes lurl — 
But far higher my theme is, far sweeter my dream is, 

For I sing of the New Orleans girl. 

Both as sweetheart and wife, all the troubles of life 

Are softened and eased at her touch, 
And with her by our side we care not what betide, 

We laugh at grim Poverty's clutch. 
Be her eyes black or brown, or the bluest in town, 

Be her hair in a braid or a curl, 
Whate'er be her name, she is always the same — 

Our idol, the New Orleans girl. 

No form is more neat, no lips are more sweet, 

No eyes than her own are more bright; 
No heart is more loyal, no manner more royal, 

No spirits than hers are more light. 
One glance of her eye, soft as moon in the sky, 

Sets the hearts of her lovers awhirl, 
And there's none upon earth who'd not give all he's 
worth 

For the love o'f the New Orleans girl. 

The gay demoiselle of whom French gallants tell, 

The fraulein of Germany's shore, 
The canny Scot's pride and the Irishman's bride, 

The maid whom the English adore; 

— 105 — 



All are charming I ween, but before our fair queen 

Their banners of beauty must furl, 
As we fondly caress her, we murmur "God bless her 

Forever — the New Orleans girl." 



THE GIRL OF LONG AGO 

Take, Time, this up-to-date young fraud you've brought 

us in your whirl, 
This fin de siecle Kate and Maud, and bring us back 

the girl 
In manner meek as any dove, with voice so soft and 

low, 
The Dorothys and Marthas of the dear old long ago. 

We see her through the past's dim haze, this girl our 
fathers' knew, 

This angel of colonial days, whose bosoni loyal, true, 

Would shrink to dwell on questioned thought, or doubt- 
ful books to know; 

Just such a girl as Standish sought in the dear old long 
ago. 

We care not for the maid who seeks amid the ballroom's 

crush 
Her greatest joy, whose lily cheeks wear artificial blush ; 
She's not the one for whom we sigh in accents soft and 

and low — 
We want the maiden modest, shy, of the dear old long 

ago. 

And so, as anxiously we cast a retrospective glance 
Adown the vistas of the past, we wonder if, perchance, 
It is ordained by God above that we shall once more 

know 
Upon the earth the maidens of the dear old long ago. 

— 106 — 



KENTUCKY GIRL 

And a fellow's very lucky 
When a daughter of Kentucky 

Takes vows before the altar to be his throughout this 
life, 
For the classes and the masses 
All appreciate Blue Grasses, 

And think that fortune's with them when they get 
one for a wife. 

There are none with bosoms truer, 
There are none with thoughts more pure, 

There are none whose veins more joyfully and health- 
fully pulsate, 
There are none more kind and gentle, 
Yet with stronger powers mental 

Than the winsome, witching women from the old 
Kentucky State. 

There are none whose eyes are brighter, 
There are none with spirits lighter, 

There are none whose mellow voices are more musical 
in tune, 
There are none with ways more charming, 
Every jealous thought disarming 

Than the dear and dainty damsels from the land of 
Daniel Boone. 

So I say a fellow's lucky 
When a daughter of Kentucky 

Herself to him in wedlock has before the altar bound, 
And in vintage old and mellow 
I drink toasts to every fellow 

Who wins a merry maiden from the Dark and 
Bloody Ground. 

— 107 — 



YE BICYCLE MAID 

Sing high, sing high, for the peerless maid, 

Who rides forth on a bicycle, 
In all the pride of youth arrayed, 

And as cool as an arctic icicle; 
Who spins along with an eager zest, 

And trills her pet song merrily ; 
Who n'er has a fall to the earth confessed, 

Because she wheels so warily. 

Sing high, sing high, for the glow of health 

That blooms the cheek so cheerily 
Of the maids alike who roll in wealth, 

Or who toil all day unwearily; 
For the sinews firm, the strength like steel, 

For the muscles large, dimensional, 
That come to the maid who rides the wheel, 

Despite all rules conventional. 

Sing high, sing high, for the lady fair, 

Not quite untouched by vanity, 
And who knows her chic and her dashing air 

Bewitch all male humanity: 
Whose eyes shine bright with a lustre glad, 

And whose voice rings out so girlishly; 
The lovely maid with the cycling fad, 

Whom prudes decry so churlishly. 

Sing high, sing high, for the wheeling craze 

That holds as captives presently 
The girls of the fin de siecle days, 

And makes their time pass pleasantly; * 
With the buggy old and the coach away ! 

Away with the ancient tricycle ! 
While the world bows down 'neath the potent sway 

Of the nineteenth century bicycle. 

— 108 — 



THE OLD-FASHIONED WOMAN 

Here's a cheer for the old-fashioned woman, 
The meek- faced and God-given woman, 
The sweet-tempered, olden-time woman, 
The woman of faraway days ; 
The woman just like our old mothers, who carefully 

watched o'er our weal; 
Who raised us, our sisters and brothers, with wondrous 

devotion and zeal; 
Who sought no unwomanly pleasures, nor cared from 

her household to roam; 
To whom the most priceless of treasures were husband 

and children and home; 
Who'd shun to read Trilby or Zola, or to costume of 

bloomers incline; 
Our ancestors' friend and consoler in the days of the 

dear auld lang syne; 
The kind-hearted, pure-bosomed woman, the woman 

now feeble and gray; 
The noble and self -effaced woman, whose race is now 

passing away. 

Here's a cheer for the glorious woman, 
The honored and much-revered woman, 
The loving and soul-cheering woman, 
The woman of faraway days, 
Who cheered and encouraged our fathers in the troubles 

of long, long ago; 
Who put Satan firmly behind her, with a stern and a 

rigorous "no;" 
Who knew much of sadness and sorrow, but never of 

sin or despair; 
Who shunned not in hour of affliction to turn to her 
Maker with prayer ; 

— 109 — 



Who brought up her sons and her daughters to walk in 

the path of the Lord ; 
In whose heart was a wellspring of worship for the 

Being she feared and adored ; 
Who never was peevish or fretful, who sought not un- 

feminine fame; 
Whose charity ever was open to the blind and the sick 

and the lame. 

Here's a cheer for the sweet, gracious woman, 
The modest and generous woman, 
The low-voiced and comforting woman, 
The woman of faraway days. 
God bless that dear one, whose existence grows shorter 

and still shorter fast, 
And who soon will be lost in the distance of the sancti- 
fied, shadowy past; 
Who soon will depart from our vision, as the sun takes 

departure at night, 
To dwell in the islands elysian, the realms of eternal 

delight ; 
Whose going the wide world will sadden, but whose 

coming to heaven above 
The hearts of the angels will gladden who bask in the 

Deity's love. 
God bless her, forever and ever, this woman of infinite 

worth, 
Whose like now seems destined to never again bless the 

dwellers of earth. 

Here's a tear for the old-fashioned woman, 
The gentle and meek-hearted woman, 
The noble and self -effaced woman, 
Who dwelt in the earlier days, 
And should in a world beyond here share guerdons of 
bliss, 

— no — 



For all she was wont to despond here of ever securing 

in this. 
Wedlock there was so often a limbo that if from her 

lashes fell dews, 
And oft, with arms planted a-kimbo, she spake some- 
what tropical "views," 
We cannot well blame one unable in life to do more 

than to pause 
Till a man brought his name as her label and whims as 

her absolute laws, — 
So less be the palm unto her age than hers who, tho' 

trammeled in life, 
Revealed so much patience and courage as woman and 

mother and wife. 

Here's a cheer for the womanly woman, 
The modest yet unrepressed woman, 
The woman who dares to be woman 
To serve and ennoble our days; 
Who claims as full measure of earth-right as man, even 

though he be loath, 
And paths by as sacred a birth-right to all that suffices 

her growth; 
Who finds life a challenge to beauty 'yond all men have 

lauded in screeds. 
And walks some new province of duty serene in good 

motive and deeds; 
Who tingles devoutly to labor in service sincere to the 

age, 
Till love, now enjoined for her neighbor, finds rebuke 

on the Biblical page; 
Whose title yet holds to men's honor, whose care her 

household elates, 
Tho' sit men in the seat of the scorner and wag with 
unreason their pates. 



— Ill — 



THE BLOOMER GIRL 

Hurrah for the girl with the bloomers, the fearless and 
rollicking maid, 

The fairest of breeches assumers, no longer of jeering 
afraid ; 

Who revels in bifurcate garments that all but the pres- 
ence confess 

Of charms that so long have lain dormant 'neath 
woman's conventional dress; 

Who minds not the other sex glancing at limbs of a 
Juno-like mold, 

Or cast like to those so entrancing, which the robes of 
the fairies enfold, 

Who rides in the gayest of humors, the shape of her 
form to reveal, 

The maid with the bicycle bloomers, the girl of the up- 
to-date wheel. 

Hurrah for the girl with the panties, wno looks with a 

consummate scorn 
On mamma and grandma and aunties, who'd shun to 

put men's clothing on; 
Who cries out in language impassioned 'gainst those 

who her taste would restrain 
To garments worn out and old-fashioned, which will 

never be stylish again. 

Yes, hurrah for these charming young witches, but 

when we go searching for wives, 
We seek not the maidens with breeches — no, not on their 

saccharine lives; 
For well do we know there are others, more winsome, 

more modest than those, 
More like to our darling old mothers, and who wear 

more respectable clothes. 

— 112 — 



YE MAID OF OI/DEN TIME 

We see her picture over there, 

In ancient, old-fashioned dress, 
With modest mien and meekest air, 

A world of tenderness 
Within the eyes that seem to glow 

With innocence sublime; 
The girl John Alden used to know 

In the old Colonial time. 

What though she lacked the savoir faire 

That modern maids posses! 
Not one thought did her bosom bear, 

Her lips dared not confess. 
And still we sing in deepest praise, 

With reverential rhyme, 
Of the maid who cheered the troublous days 

In the old Colonial time. 



JOHN McDONOGH 

J ehovah oped the book of gilded page, 

On which great names appeared, of every age; 

H e scanned the list of statesmen good and grand ; 

N ext those discoverers of unknown lands ; 

M en's names whose brains enlightened fellow-man 

Came next within the awful Vision's scan; 

D own ran He last the long and growing lists 

O f earth's most widely-known philanthropists. 

N ames there of men who love for others felt — 

O n these while with a kindly glance He dwelt 

G od called His scribe, and when the angel came, 

H e bade him place up first McDonogh's name. 

— 113 — 



TO LINDAMIRA 

My Lindamira me doth charge 
Something to her to write, 

So as to show the world at large 
That I'm her favored knight. 

Here is her note : " Tis all the mode ; 

loved one, write to me, 
A sonnet, eulogy, or ode, 

Or an /apostrophe." 

Ah, darling girl, didst thou but mind 

How fervently I sweat 
(Or perspire, to be more refined) 
O'er every line I get, 
Didst thou but know how many a time 

1 fret and sigh and sob 

In efforts vain to make a rhyme, 
Thou'dst know 'twas no soft job. 

And love, too well I know my muse, 

And her forbidding brow, 
To think she'll let me air my views 

In verse about thee now ; 
Besides, the charms that thee bedight, 

Those cherry lips of thine, 
Those rosy cheeks, those eyes so bright 

Need softer pen than mine. 

And so, fair one, I must say no 

To part of thy request, 
To write in rhymes of rhythmic flow 

A verse to thee \addressed ; 
But though your beauties I'll not tell 

In ode or elegy, 
If apostrophe will do as well, 

Why, darling, here it be: '. 

— 114 — 



YE SUMMER GIRL 

A three times three for the summer girl — we see her 

swiftly coming 
Where the billows curl and the brooklets purl, and the 

mountain winds are humming; 
She takes her place with a charming grace, this maid in 

costume cooling, 
With a soft little smile on her rosebud face, but a heart 

set on leg-pulling. 

And >a three times three, again, I say, for the clerk with 
turndown collars, 

Who'll for the maiden's pleasure pay out of his saved- 
up dollars; 

Who'll think he's got a solid mash, but who'll get a turn- 
down f reezin', 

When she hears him loudly yell out "Cash" some day 
in winter's season. 

Yes, hurrah for the girl the dudes adore, the short-lived 

summer maiden, 
With beauty more than Poe's Lenore, who wandered out 

of Aiden; 
Whose naive look -and witching style will soon set hearts 

to jumping, 
But who, spite her smile so free of guile, is adept at 

cranium bumping. 



WHY THE WAVES WERE SAD 

A merry crowd sat at the Lake, 

Albert Levy, Jim Payne, Tommy Smith, 

Jack Brown, Charlie Jinks, and Bob Blake, 
And sated their innerselves with 

— 115 — 



The finest the markets afford 

In the way of fish, meat, and all that, 

And when they had nigh cleaned the board, 
They leaned back and started to chat. 

Two soft-crusted crabs yet remained 

Of the mess that to Levy was brought, 
Quoth Smith, as he gazed on the same: 

"I firmly believe those crabs ought 
By doctors at times to be used" — 

Asked Jim "Why?" in questioning vein; 
"Because" — Smith seemed much amused, 

"They're things that Al Levy ate, Payne." 



MY GIRL IN THE BALLET 

I worshiped her as heathen nations idolize the sun; 
Of all the girls in this wide world, she the fairest one; 
Her hair was like a lot of golden threads but newly 

spun, 
And brighter eyes in human face on this earth there 

were none. 
I often thought that when her lovely self I once had 

won, 
I'd clasp her tightly to my breast and far away would 

run 
To where no mortal eyes but mine her charms would 

gaze upon. 
But now, alas! my dream is o'er, my plans texe all 

undone ; 
Whene'er I see her coming now, to gaze on her I shun, 
For one night I was rudely waked from my illusion, 
When I was introduced unto her daughter's grown-up 

son. 

— 116 — 



THE NEW WOMAN 

The new woman's come, 

I'm happy to say; 
She's down at our home, 

And she got there to-day. 
For her to appear, 

We've watched for some days. 
And now that's she here, 

We're hoping she stays. 

No, she doesn't wear pants, 

To boss doesn't seek; 
The fact is, her glance 

Is humble and meek. 
Not much doth she talk 

(I doubt if she can), 
And there's naught in her walk 

That resembles a man. 

This new woman's brow 

No look intense wears, 
And I'm ready to vow 

No "mission" she bears. 
She hath not a bike; 

And in nothing I find 
Her one whit unlike 

The rest of her kind. 

Then you say she's not what 

She's been cracked up to be ; 
But I fear you do not 

Quite comprehend me. 
It's a servant named Sue 

I refer to this way ; 
Who is certainly new, 

For we got her to-day. 

— 117 — 



THE SWEET GIRL GRADUATE 

See the sweet girl graduate. 

What a large and heavy weight 

Of lore is in her curly pate ! 

How wise she looketh, and sedate! 

How proudly doth she declamate 

Her farewell to old "Alma Mate !" 

The thoughts that soon will emanate 

From her wide brainpan, will create 

A furore throughout all the State. 

She knows 'twill be her happy fate 

That millions yet to generate 

Will try her acts to emulate. 

She can quickly demonstrate 

A problem that would agitate 

And worry even Euclid's pate. 

The truths that History does relate; 

The subject and the predicate; 

What words accent penultimate; 

The distance 'tis, on line drawn straight, 

To stars and moon that luminate 

The earth below in evening late — 

In all these things she's truly great. 

The wisdom that doth radiate 

From her mind, and doth coruscate 

In her orbs, is inordinate. 

Just listen, now, to her dilate 

On cubic yards and feet quadrate, 

Isosceles, and things cognate 

She knows just how to calculate 

The heavy atmospheric weight 

That presses down (so wise state) 

On face and arms and limbs and pate. 

In Nature's secrets aggregate, 

She early was initiate. 

— 118 — 



=/ 



She can for hours lengthy prate 

Of science, and can illustrate 

What causes seeds to germinate. 

She knows, I think, the very date 

When Eve and Adam met their fate, 

The color of the fruit they ate. 

The angel's name who at the gate 

Of Eden stood, and, obdurate, 

Informed the pair they need not wait, 

That their fine home they must vacate, 

And ne'er again could penetrate 

The garden, or luxuriate 

'Midst shrubs that there did vegetate. 

If she cannot exactly state 

The second name of Moses great, 

I'll bet she can approximate. 

On woman's suffrage hear her prate, 

If parties would her nominate 

As President, she'd soon abate 

The evils of the tariff slate, 

And show the world a woman's pate 

Is fit to deal with cares of state. 

In short, 'twould tire me to relate 

How fully is she educate. 

But, still, O girlie graduate, 

You queen of things effeminate, 

If you should condescend to mate, 

And enter into married state, 

What then would be your husband's fate? 

Would you become domesticate? 

Could you, for instance, e'er create 

A biscuit less than ten pounds' weight? 

Could you abstain from sleeping late, 

And get the breakfast done by eight? 

Or could you deftly cook a plate 

Of hash, or cup of chocolate. 

Or pie that would not operate 

— 119 — 



To make your worthy spouse irate 

And all his feelings irritate? 

And can you differentiate 

Twixt steak that's bad and steak first-rate? 

Could you a button loose locate? 

Or make the grocer give good weiginr 

And keep your household money straight? 

If bloomers were the proper gait, 

Would you want to perambulate 

The streets in garments bifurcate? 

Would you the Lease girls imitate 

And go to women's meetings late, 

The suffrage question to debate, 

And run the risk of hubby's hate, 

By leaving him with opiate, 

The baby's squalling to abate? 

O sweet and wise young graduate, 

Your answers please enunciate; 

Be careful; don't prevaricate, 

But try to make these matters straight ; 

For if you don't 't'will militate 

Against you, and your future fate 

Will be the single-blessed state. 



INDEPENDENT 

Though the Muse may go back on the poet, 

He needn't be one bit dismayed ; 
He can go ahead with his effusions, 

Though deprived of the goddess' aid; 
He can get from the gasman the meter, 

From the hero can borrow the feat, 
And can find lots of rime in the winter — 

And there are his verses complete. 

— 120 — 



TO THE SLANGY GIRL 

Oh! tell me, maiden up-to-date, 

Will you exception take 
If gently I insinuate 

That you an error make 
In slinging slang the way you do? 

And one thing sure is this : 
Some day the same you'll dearly rue — 

Depend upon it, miss. 

You know the good old saw — to-wit : 

"Learn to say 'No ;' " but you 
Will persist in saying "Nit;" 

Now, that will never do. 
You say a young man is a "guy" 

And quite a "jollier," too; 
If you think that is nice, miss, I 

Don't quite agree with you. 

Slang is much more expressive, yet 

The better sort of plan 
Is to use "Yes" and not "You bet !" 

An ordinary man 
Dislikes to hear a sweet- faced elf, 

With lips' of cherry red, 
Request him to "Go hang yourself !" 

Or else to "soak his head." 

And when he goes a wife to choose 

He's rather partial to 
The girl who will the language use 

His mother used to do. 
Verbum sap — and, miss, I pray, 

If at these lines you scoff, 
Please do it in a proper way, 

And don't bid me "Come off!" 

— 121 — 



TO THE TELEPHONE GIRL 

sweetest telephonic maiden, 

Lovely girl! 
With Nature's choicest blessings laden, 

Teeth of pearl; 
Eyes like the stars in Heaven shining, 
Cheeks softer than a velvet lining, 
And hair that Nature's wise designing 

Meant to curl. 

How often maiden, hast thou fluttered 

My spirit meek! 
And thoughts 'twere best to leave unuttered, 

Expression seek, 
When to the telephone I go, 
And ring up for an hour or so. 
Before I hear thy soft "Hello," 

And hear thee speak. 

How often have thy ways contrary 

My mind perplexed! 
How often with thee, gentle fairy, 

I'm greatly vexed! 
Oft when to friend through 'phone I'm calling, 
In midst, perhaps, of sentence falling, 
With haste that to me is appalling, 

Thou disconnect'st. 

And when my business I've done stating, 
O maid unkind, 

1 send unto thine ears vibrating 

The "Ring off" sign; 
That I'm then "rung off" I've expected, 
A half-hour passes — I'm dejected, 
To find that I am still connected 

With same old line. 

— 122 — 



Oh! tell me why thou actest thus 

Unto poor me, 
Why dost my sweet temper muss 

With fiendish glee? 
If I've deserved thy stern displeasure, 
I know not how, thou female treasure ; 
Oh ! cease to heap my flowing measure 

Of misery. 



GAIiS 

Gals is mity cur'us critters, 

Don't keer w'at yew say; 
Sum is mos' ez sour ez bitters, 

Sum is t'uther way. 
Sum is brash an' self-assertin', 

Sum is meek an' tame; 
But w'en et cums ter downrite flirtin', 

Gals is all th' same. 

W'en er feller he gits stuck on 

Sum gal w'at's er flirt, 
Lots uv fun ter stan' an' luk on 

While she doz him dirt. 
Makes him hop an' wate an' linger, 

Makes him run an' jump 
At th' raisin' of her finger, 

Like er silly chump. 

Zar uv Rusher isn't in it, 

Way she duz th' fool ; 
Smiles an' cheers him up this minnit, 

Nex' she treats him cool; 
Treets his luv like she ain't carin', 

Keeps him on th' guess; 
Wates ontil he's mos' desparin' 

'Fore she answers "Yes." 

— 123 — 



TO THE BAI/LET GIRL 

With sylphlike grace thou pirouett'st, 

In silken gauze, 
Deserving well the meed thou gett'st 

Of wild applause. 
Full well thou knowest thou dost rule, 

With gentle sway, 
Alike o'er stripling fresh from school, 

And bald roue. 

When thou dost dance with lovely grace, 

Thyself to see 
Would from a martyr's thoughts efface 

His misery; 
And when thy face breaks in a smile 

So sweet and bright, 
'Twould serve the bosom to beguile 

Of anchorite. 

So fascinating are the charms 

That meet in thee, 
That yearningly I stretch my arms ; 

And comes to me 
A thought how gladly I would give 

My earthly store, 
With thee as all mine own to live 

Forevermore. 

Howe'er, another side thou hast, 

I hear, O, maid! 
And thoughts of which around me cast 

A gloomy shade; 
For whil'st thou seem'st of tender age 

And virgin heart, 
'Tis said that thou, when off the stage, 

A grandma art. 

— 124 — 



TO THE NEW WOMAN 

Oh, women new ! Say, is it true, 

This vague but pleasant rumor 
Which says that you will soon taboo 

The much-bedeviled bloomer? 
If such you do, 'twill much help to 

Restore the old good humor 
Which we men knew long, long ere you 

Became a pants assumer. 

Oh, women new! If women knew 

How soberly and sadly 
We men did view the way that you 

So eagerly and gladly 
Did cotton to our pants in lieu 

Of dresses, you would gladly 
The same eschew, which really do 

Become you very badly. 



TO THE NEWCOMB GIRL 

Maid of Newcomb, let me know, 
Is there on this earth below, 
Or up in the space above, 
Things thou hast no knowledge of? 
Tell me, could not thy lore assure 
The rounded circle's quadrature? 
Who wrote the Junius letters, pray? 
I'm sure thou'rt able this to say. 
And please explain, O learned Miss ! 
The nebular hypothesis. 
And where, omniscient maid, as well, 
Went the lost tribes of Is-ra-el. 
Assured am I that you could prove 

— 125 — 



By science that "the sun do move," 

And that cuneiform inscriptions o'er 

Which learned men so vainly pore, 

Would puzzle their small brains no more, 

Had they the aid of thy great lore. 

Wert thou sent the North Pole to find, 

Thou'dst bare its secrets to mankind, 

And couldst in darkest Af-ri-ca 

Go farther than did Stanley stray. 

In fact, as my thoughts dwell on thee, 

Tis strange how dense the world must be, 

When mysteries do baffle quite 

Its men called wise and recondite, 

Not to call unto their aid 

The Sophie Newcomb college maid. 



THAT CAKE 

A flowing cup of flour, and 

Of butter next a mite ; 
Four eggs just newly laid to hand, 

A cup of sugar white ; 
Some chocolate therein infused; 

Some yeast for lightness' sake — 
These are the things she said she used, 

When Marie made that cake. 

Of iron ore a cupful scant; 

Of flint a tiny bit; 
Four wedges next of adamant, 

With steel dust flecked on it; 
The whole to form a mass confused 

No chisel e'er could break — 
These are the things you'd swear she used. 

Had you tried Marie's cake. 

— 126 — 



TO THE SKIRT DANCER 

Just a pair of black eyes glancing, 
Just a figure plump, entrancing, 
Just a little careless dancing, 

Sweet Marie! 
Just a kick a wee bit shocking, 
Just a black and shapely stocking, 
Just a jesture, teasing, mocking, 

Straight at me. 

Just the sauciest of faces, 

Just of naughtiness slight traces, 

Just a glimpse of whitest laces, 

Girl divine! 
Just a hint of drap'ry showing, 
Just a nod so arch and knowing, 
Just a smile from thine eyes flowing 

Unto mine! 

TO THE POSTER GIRL. 

Oh, poster girl ! wert thou my bride 

Joys would to me ecru ; 
I long to have thee by my side, 

Dog-garnet, yes, I do! 
Oh, carmine own and fly with me, 

For verily I swear, 
Life would be one long ( dream with thee, 

Or, rather, one nightmare. 

BUSINESS LIKE 

I'm fond of cheerful men and cheerful books, 
And everything that pleasant doth appear; 

But still, I like men with for-bidding looks — 
The reason is that I'm an auctioneer. 

— 127 — 



WERE I A WOMAN 

Were I a woman, meek or gay, when men in crowded 

cars should say: 
"Take this seat, miss (or ma'am), I pray," 
I would not take the proffered seat, unless I'd say, as 

would be meet: 
"I thank you, sir," in accents sweet, 
Were I a woman ! 

Were I a woman, I would shun to leave my household 

work undone, 
While to the matinee I'd run ; 
I'd not in mornings lie awake and needless time in 

dressing take, 
Nor breakfast force my hub to make, 
Were I a woman! 

Were I a woman, dainty, rare, I'd not invite, on 

thoroughfare, 
The idle lounger's wanton stare; 
I'd not up to Canal street wend each day and bargain 

sales attend, 
My husband's hard-earned pelf to spend, 
Were I a woman! 

Were I a woman, I would scorn to gad around from 

early morn 
Until the sun to rest had gone ; 
Nor would I scandalously rend to pieces name of absent 

friend, 
But stoutly would her fame defend, 
Were I a woman ! 

Were I a woman, I'd not like in pants an uncouth pose 

to strike, 
And show my figure on a bike ; 

— 128 — 



A woman true I'd strive to be, and this "new woman" 

heresy 
Would never make a slave of me, 
Were I a woman! 

THE SCHOLASTIC MAID 

She knew all about theology, and also physiology, and in 
secrets of astrology great learning did parade; 

She knew just what were bacteria and what caused the 
dread diphtheria, and of feminine hysteria had a 
special study made. 

In political economy, zoology, astronomy and govern- 
ment autonomy she was far up in the lead; 

She was quite a rhetorician, and also a skilled musician ; 
her historical erudition was a wondrous thing, 
indeed. 

She could spend a day rehearsing Shakespeare's wrtings 

and conversing on Ig. Donnelly's aspersing of the 

bard of England's land; 
She could write a plaintive ditty that would call forth 

tears of pity, or could pen a story witty that your 

laughter would command. 

Her great lore in hydrostatics, trigonometry, pneumatics 

and in higher mathematics was quite strange in 

one so young; 
She was learned in art and drama, was a master hand at 

grammar, and was what you'd call a "crammer" 

in the ancient Latin tongue. 

She just idolized old Browning, on all lesser poets 

frowning — if she had a virtue crowning 'twas her 

grand poetic soul ; 
But, though tell on her I shouldn't, yet I must confess 

she wouldn't boil an egg, because she couldn't, 

nor yet could she darn a hole. 

— 129 — 



WERE I A WOMAN 

Ma chere Mam'selle Peetkin! Ma foi! 

Fo' w'at yo' bin tek me, I ax, 
Zat yo' go w-r-rite zat lettair a moi, 

En ax me fo' geev yo' ze fac's 
Habout toutes les choses zat I do. 

Eef eet happen zat I be une femme? 
Ees yo' know ze embarras, morbleu ! 

I git een eef I do ze sem? 

Yore lettair at firs' mek me hot, 

En I say I no answer ze sem; 
Mais, all ze regar' zat I got 

Pour votre talent en aussi toi-meme, 
Bin say eef I mek no reply, 

Eet go'ne be un terreeb' disgrace, 
En so I decide zat I try 

En show how I stan' on ze case. 

I got une epouse, mees, yo' see, 

En aussi une mere par le loi, 
En eef I go w-r-rite ze trut', me, 

Le diable he be rais' up chez moi; 
En s'pose I go r-roastin' zare sex, 

En say w'at I sink zey ort do, 
En eet turn out zem femmes zey git vex', 

Que aide ees I go'ne git de vous? 

Non, non, ma chere mademoiselle, 

Yo ? nevair mus' ax sings lak zem ; 
I got me too much sense fo' tell 

W'at I do eef I be une femme. 
Eef yo' ax me fight Corbett pour vous, 

I seemply go'ne tell yo' tres bien, 
Mais, I no go h'agains' zat epouse 

En zat mere par le loi de la mienne. 

— 130 — 



P. S. — 1 mek yo' zis pos'creep' fo' ax 

Eef un homme marie een cette ville 
Go w-r-rite yo' ze trut' en ze fac's 

Wat he do eef he be une fille. 
I weesh zat yo' geev me son nom, 

En w'en by Canal street I pass, 
I buy somesing fine fo' cet homme, 

Fo' h'ac' so couragement, yas. 

THE FELLOW BEHIND THE BLUE PENCIL 

Don't think that our Philippine war is run 

One single particular minute, 
With the aid of the man behind the gun, 

For that poor duck isn't in it. 
Just sift the reports since the trouble began, 

And our victories so vast and immense '11 
Be found to be due to a different man — 

The fellow behind the blue pencil. 

When you read of a battle that Otis has won, 

When forty- four natives were captured, 
And ninety-eight killed, and our losses were none, 

Don't yell, in a manner enraptured, 
Hurrahs and hurrahs for each laddie in blue 

Who handles a warlike utensil; 
Nay, nay, give the honor where honor is due — 

To the man with cerulean pencil. 

So away with your Bonapartes, monarchs of Gaul! 

Away with your great Alexanders! 
Away with your Grants and your Shermans and all 

The rest of those played-out commanders ! 
And when we have come to the end of the game, 

Write high with gigantic stencil, 
On the pillar of Fame, the worthier name 

Of the fellow behind the blue pencil. 

— 131 — 



THE FELLOW WHO HAS SEEN THE PLAY BEFORE 

There are evils to contend with when to theater you go; 

There's the lovely girl, for instance, whose hat shuts out 
all the show; 

There's the fellow always thirsty who sits far back from 
the aisle, 

And who treads upon your corns each act to go and 
take a smile. 

There's the woman loud and fussy, who comments, in 
feigned dismay, 

At the leading lady's boldness coming out decollete; 

But far worse than all these people, as a most con- 
founded bore, 

Is the fellow just beside you, who has seen the play 
before. 

When the villain in the drama mutters in a stage "aside," 

That he'll move the very heavens just to make the star 
his bride, 

This insinuating nuisance by your side will softly say, 

"Wait and see the hero kill him in the fourth act of the 
play." 

When the heroine lies helpless in the baron's ancient 
tower, 

And bemoans the fate that placed her in the cruel vil- 
lain's power, 

"You will see the hero save her if you wait but one act 
more," 

Will be told you by this Jonah who has seen the play 
before. 

When the play's exciting story turns upon a grandsire's 

will, 
Which will show the hero's title to the mansion on the 

hill, 

— 132 — 



And the paper still is missing, though they've hunted 
high and low, 

And through want of it the hero's sunk in penury and 
woe; 

Harsh upon your waiting senses will the hated whisper 
fall, 

"Soon they'll find the missing paper in a crevice in the 
wall;" 

Then you rise up quick in anger and stride out the play- 
house door, 

Breathing curses on the nuisance who has seen the play 
before. 



A WOMAN'S DESPAIR 

Oh, Heaven! to helpless lie upon a couch of pain, 
And hear without the laughter and the song, 
The gleeful voices of the passing throng, 
And know that I, alas ! may ne'er again 
Join in the rout ! that I, once young and strong. 
Must stricken lie, while round about my brain 
There lies close clasped an ever-tightening chain, 
And fever binds my form within its thong! 
To know that every hour may be my last ! 
To fluttering draw the slow, reluctant breath, 
To gaze into the horrid face of coming death, 
And start back from his loathsome guise aghast! 
To feel my pillow smoothed by alien hand ! 
To see the stranger faces by me pass! 
To know that soon I'll lie, an inert mass, 
Far far from friends, and far from native land! 
And, oh ! far bitterer and far sadder thought, 
Beside which other terrors are as naught — 
To feel, to know, that while I helpless lay, 
In dry goods stores this is a bargain day. 

— 133 — 



TO THE "Q. AND A." MAN 

The man I admire the most in the world 

Is the wiseacre, learned and solemn, 
The member, I mean, of the T.-D.'s big staff 

Who edits the Q. and A. Column. 
His knowledge's gigantic, his learning immense, 

His memory's a subject of wonder; 
He's called on each week puzzling questions to solve, 

And not once has this sage made a blunder. 

He is well up on grammar, on physic, on law ; 

Conversant he is with each "ism ;" 
Geography, history, all to him are known, 

And the secrets of wierd hypnotism. 
In algebra's maxims he revels at ease; 

Geometry's rules he has followed; 
In the "ologies," too, from the first to the last, 

His knowledge may well be called solid. 

He knows just what causes the comets to come 

In the widespreading dome of far Heaven; 
And if a hen and a half lay an egg and a half 

In a day( then how many in seven. 
Each week is he called on to answer direct 

Many questions, some wise and some silly, 
As, "Where was young Mose went the light it went 
out?" 

Or, "Who struck poor Patterson Billy?" 

He knows about prize fights and the records of all 
The great men who have stood in the ring; 

On baseball statistics he's quite out of sight, 
In yachting he knows everything. 

He knows just what day of the week any date 
Was in any year, present or past; 

— 134 — 



He knows the best time for a mile running race, 
And the furthest big sledge hammer cast. 

His wide information is, indeed, a surprise; 

Oh ! where did he get all his knowledge ? 
He seems to know all about things never taught 

In any American college. 
What a lot of gray matter his head must contain, 

To fit him for such a position! 
What a lot of hard study he must have gone through 

To acquire such grand erudition ! 

His intellect must be a source of great pride 

To this wondrous and omniscient fellow. 
I imagine his wisdom shines out from his face, 

And forms 'round his head like a halo. 
What a pleasure to sit in his chair, Monday morn, 

His brain with the world's learning freighted, 
And think of the many who scan the T.-D. 

For the answers so fondly awaited. 

But one speck there is in the elysium of bliss, — 

That's the fellow who thinks 'tis the caper 
To send in more questions than three at a time. 

And write on both sides of the paper. 
But still are his lines in a pleasant spot cast, 

Quite happy are his circumstances ; 
And I'd give a cool million to swap places with 

The boss of the "Questions and Answers." 



THE JOLLY PLUMBER 

Smith is a jolly plumber who 
Sings at his work all day — 

That is, while he lays his pipe 
He also pipes his lay. 

— 135 — 



TO THE HEIiLO MAN 

O, Hello Man! A fellow man, 

In anguish turns to thee; 
And, on his knees, asks of thee, please, 

His ills to remedy. 
For he does know that here below . 

You're mighty as can be; 
And he does hope 'tis in your scope 

To ease his misery. 

O, Hello Man ! A fellow man 

No joy in living finds — 
'Most every day a Dago gay 

Upon an organ grinds 
Just by my door two hours and more, 

Beginning in the morn. 
I'm in despair, and hence this prayer, 

That you make him move on. 

O, Hello Man ! A fellow man 

Would 'gainst his fate revile— 
My oldest girl, my daughter Pearl 

Leans to the bloomer style; 
Please ask of her, when she does stir 

Out for a call or dance, 
To take her own, and leave alone 

Her papa's Sunday pants. 

O, Hello Man ! A fellow man 

Would ask another boon — 
My daughter Flo, she has a beau, 

And every night they spoon, 
They kiss and coo the whole night through, 

And gas comes high, you see ; 
Drop him a hint to early sprint, 

And thanks you'll get from me. 

— 136 — 



O, Hello Man ! A fellow man 

Dislikes to trouble thee ; 
But he's so meek he dare not speak 

Nor kick himself, you see; 
Hence his request to you addressed ; 

And if you grant the same, 
O, Hello Man! A fellow man 

Will ever bless thy name. 

THE BOYS THE GIRLS LIKE 

The female gambler dearly loves her Wynne; 

The girl who's brokenhearted sticks to Si; 
The athletic maiden ever thinks of Gym, 

And the ever-teasing coquette has her Guy. 
The shoplifter fair to Rob would give her hand; 

The girl who paints thus shows a love for Art ; 
While the maid in the Salvation Army's band 

Dotes on her Sam with all her guileless heart. 

When the social leader loses all her grace, 

Of course it makes her sorrowful, but then, 
Though no longer she's the belle around the place. 

She is satisfied to know that she has Ben. 
The Irish peasant woman has her Pete; 

Girls fond of diamonds stick to Jem alway; 
E'en the Amazon in Afric's hot retreat 

Has her Manuel of arms, explorers say. 

The girl who likes to show off Pomp does love ; 

The woman with a strong mind wants her Will — 
And all the preferences named above 

Are shown in ordinary times, but still 
There are also times when for one man alone 

Every woman's heart a strong desire does feel ; 
For when female stomachs pangs of hunger own, 

Then all their thoughts are centered on Emile. 

— 137 — 



THE MAN WITH A MISSION 

He burned with great ambition, for he knew he had a 
mission, 
And that Nature's view in putting him on earth 
Was the great world's elevation, and that since his own 
creation 
No mortal had been born of equal worth. 
He was loaded with pomposity, and his wonderful ver- 
bosity 
Made^ him quite a prominent figure every place he'd 
chance to stray ; 
And one day, with bosom burning, and his heart for 
glory yearning, 
He started out to ascertain wherein his mission lay. 

First of all, he tried play-acting, but his genius not 
attracting 
The plaudits of spectators, who were beautifully few, 
He retired in high displeasure, and decided, at his 
leisure, 
That he'd write a brand new novel, for which fame 
would be his due; 
So he penned a thrilling story, full of wit and allegory, 
But no publisher would print it, for it wasn't worth 
a dern; 
Then, with still unconquered vanity, he said, with great 
urbanity, 
That he thought his brilliant genius next to legal lore 
he'd turn. 

So in law he graduated, and for wealthy clients waited; 
They didn't come — he saw that law would not bring 

him success, 
And with vigor unabated, this man with a mission 

stated 

-138- 



That he'd enter journalism and contribute to the 

press. 
Soon he found, to his confusion, that he suffered from 

illusion, 
For the articles he'd write off were in every case sent 

back ; 
So, with much less self-reliance, but still bidding Fate 

defiance, 
He said that next at business life he guessed he'd 

take a whack. 

And he soon became a broker in rice, cotton, sugar, 
Mocha, 
And in every other product that is dealt with on 
Exchange ; 
But a panic came — he "busted;" and retired, quite dis- 
gusted 
At the way Fate always stepped in, his great plans 
to disarrange; 
Since then he's tried things many, but could never earn 
a penny. 
And he's very much discouraged — you no longer hear 
him brag; 
All his glory has departed, and I lately heard he'd 
started 
At the only thing he's fit for — selling peanuts; five 
a bag. 



THE UNDERTAKER'S SOLILOQUY 

"Live and let live," as a motto, 

Is the worst of the whole foolish crop; 
For if people insisted on living, 

I might as well close up the shop. 

— 139 — 



FROM THE BIBLIOMANIAC 

As long as I've my library, I know I will not starve ; 
For example, think what a fine slice of Bacon I can 

Carve ; 
Or else I'll try a nice Lamb chop, or if that won't do me, 
And I prefer a chicken, I've a Cooper two, you see. 

I also have a Field wherein the choicest things do 

grow, 
And if I want my diet sweet, I have some Caine, also ; 
And should my stock of food that's fresh by any mishap 

fail, 
I suppose I'd have to fall back then on something that 

is Stael. 

But, then, who will prepare my meals? Just let me 

take a look; 
Ha-ha, I have it! All my food I'll make Rose Terry 

Cooke ; 
And since I cannot serve myself at table, why, you 

see, 
I'm glad I'll always have a Butler there to wait on me. 



MALE PREFERENCES 

The lawyer idolizes Sue, the printer has his Em ; 

The sexton in the churchyard has his Nell; 
The oyster's stuck on Pearl, or, rather, Pearl is stuck on 
him; 

The motorman is very fond of Belle. 

The hotel man likes Dinah, and the doctor Chloe 
Roform ; 
The druggist scarce can make a choice between 

— 140 — 



The sprightly, gay Mag Nesia and the bright Sal 
Volatile ; 
While Meta is the poet's darling queen. 

The uptown man likes Rosa Park, the baseballist has 
Fan; 
The shoemaker loves Peg, so people say; 
The porter loves his Carry, and the author wants his 
Pen; 
While the oarsman to his Rose will stick alway. 



AS IF THERE WERE FEMALE MEN 

He was highly educated, and he never tolerated 

The slightest deviation from the grammar's certain 
rule; 
Every harmless solecism he declared a barbarism, 

And would say its hapless author ought to take a 
term at school. 
Why, one day his daughter Sadie chanced to say "a 
widow lady," 
And he turned so white and ghastly that I thought 
he'd surely die; 
And so strict he was he even whipped his son, a lad of 
seven, 
Because he used the "me" one day, instead of 
using "I." 

I considered him perfection, and had there been an 
election 
For the smartest person living, I'd have given him 
my vote; 
All the rules of Lindley Murray (unto me a source of 
worry) 
This wonderful grammarian seemed to have by rote. 

— 141 — 



But now there's a cessation to my erstwhile admiration ; 
For the man I once looked on as just as wise as he 
was gray, 
From my high esteem has fallen, in a manner most 
appalling 
Since I heard him referring to "the mail man" yes- 
terday. 

THEIR LUCK 

Oh, there's Cliff and Ed Schwartz, two fishermen bold; 
Has the tale of their prowess unto you been told? 
If not, then I prithee a moment to hark — 
Last Sunday they went to the Old City Park; 
Five hundred and one were the perch that they caught, 
You'll think, I've no doubt, it was excellent sport, 
But, alas, the whole lot (now, I beg you, don't laugh) 
Weighed altogether a pound and a half. 

TO THE TAILOR 

Come, fellow of measure and fit, 

And make me a suit of clothes, please; 
Make the pantaloons out of a bit 

Of the chill hyperborean breeze; 
Make the coat out of ice-water, pray; 

And use Arctic snow for the vest, 
For, if the heat keeps on this way, 

Such a suit, sir, will suit me the best. 

PROM THE COAL DEALER 

I never studied law in all my life; 

My desires ne'er did in that direction run; 
Yet I'm familiar with both Blackstone and Coke, 

And past master when it comes to Littleton. 

— 142 — 



A RESOURCEFUL FELLOW 

A fellow of wondrous resources is Gray; 

During last summer's great heat, 
He thought he would stray one warm, sultry day, 

To a certain sequestered retreat; 
While he lay there at ease, along came a tramp 

Who, bestowing a couple of blows 
On Gray's head, knocked him out, and proceeded, the 
scamp ! 

To steal the best part of his clothes. 

And when Gray recovered, he found himself there 

'Most as bare as was primeval man ; 
Perhaps you or I would have died of despair, 

But Gray isn't built on that plan; 
For the first thought with him was just how he'd get 
out 

Of his fix; his eye happened to note 
Some little doves fluttering their their mansion about; 

He dispersed them/ and captured their cote. 

The near railroad track furnished him with a tie; 

Just then, by the luckiest chance, 
A thirsty canine came languidly by; 

Gray quickly robbed him of his pants. 
The anger he felt, as a matter of course, 

Gave to him a choler straightaway, 
While the two blows he'd got with such terrible force. 

As a pair of cuffs served Mr. Gray. 

He walked on a bit, and a farmhouse drew nigh ; 

Some chickens he saw round there, and 
He scared them away with the usual cry, 

And, of course, there were "shoos" just to hand. 

— H3 — 



And thusly accoutred, with shoes, coat, and pants, 

Cuffs, collar, and likewise a tie, 
With nothing to show he had met with mischance, 

Straight back to the town he did hie. 



A MATTER OF NAMES 

This way of naming of children doth greatly me dis- 
please, 

Because 'tis done regardless of all unities; 

Take a fellow that's deceitful, now, and don't you think 
it rank, 

That through his parents' foolishness, we yet must say 
he's Frank? 

I know a man who'd die before he'd tell a falsehood 

low, 
Yet I call him Eliah, for his pa would have it so; 
And don't we think it strange about our black cook's 

little girl, 
When we're told by her fond mamma that her name is 

Blanche or Pearl? 

A stout girl will be Lena — now, isn't that a shame? 
And think of an ordained old maid with Marie for a 

name, 
And can one expect a man to know much joy upon this 

earth H * WW*1 

When a Paul clings to him from almost the moment of 

his birth? 

I know two men, and slicker men you don't meet every 

day; 
Yet one of them's a Reuben and the other is a Jay — 
And a thousand other misfits I could find, I'd bet a dime, 
'Mongst the given names of people, if I only had the 

time. 

— 144 — 



THAT LIFE INSURANCE MAN 

Oh! my life's a perfect torment, and I'm worried half 

to death, 
And with dodging round the corners I am fairly out of 

breath ; 
Grim Fate has cast upon me a cruel, awful ban, 
In the form and shape eternal of a life insurance man. 

In the morning he will meet me, ere I'm fairly out of 

bed, 
And he'll ram his cursed jargon down into my aching 

head; 
In the forenoon, if I wander out to walk around awhile, 
I am sure to meet this demon, with his everlasting smile. 

He will bob up in the office almost any hour of the day, 
Useless 'tis the doors to fasten; he'll get in some other 

way; 
He will walk up to me boldly, as I sit there, pen in 

hand, 
And insist on my insuring on the ten-year Tontine 

plan. 

I no longer go to luncheon, for I'm fearful I might 

meet 
This embodiment of worry as I walk along the street ; 
I can spend a happy evening in my pleasant home no 

more, 
In the midst, perhaps, of dinner, he'll come knocking 

at the door. 

When I see him, what a surge of anger swells within 

my breast! 
For this villain knows no mercy and will never let me 

rest. 

— H5 — 



If I had him in a yawl boat, far out on the raging sea, 
There would be a mortal struggle twixt this demon 
vile and me. 

Gladly would I swap positions with the savage Hotten- 
tot, 

Gladly would I take up dwelling in the most forsaken 
spot; 

Anywhere, in any country, Greenland cold or Afric's 
strand, < 

If I could but 'scape the clutches of this dread insurance 
man. 



THE MAN WHO KNOWS IT ALL 

There are bores of all descriptions; there are cranks on 

every fad; 
Pugilism claims its legion, and old baseball is as bad ; 
The enthusiast on horses nearly turns your whiskers 

gray; 
And the fiend that's daft on wheeling you will meet with 

every day. 
Still, with wisdom all these bothers I can gently turn 

aside, 
For I know a scheme to beat them, and the scheme I've 

often tried ; 
But I know there's no escaping when into the hands I 

fall 
Of the omnipresent vulture — the man who knows it all. 

He will prate about his learning in the French or 

German tongue; 
He's familiar with the language in which poet Homer 

sung; 
Nature has for him no myst'ry ; physiology's mere sport ; 
Botany he's quite au fait in; trigonometry his forte. 

— 146 — 



He can play on the piano; Shakespeare's works are to 

him known; 
Blackstone, Coke and Kent are playthings, all their 

learning is his own; 
He know all about the workings of this great terrestial 

ball; 
He's a walking cyclopedia, is the man who knows it all. 

All the classics has he studied ; there's no country 'neath 

the sun 
With which he's not familiar, for he's traveled every 

one; 
Mathematics are quite simple, and in chemistry he's 

wise; 
At your ignorance in science he will open wide his eyes. 
Of his learning in pneumatics he is naturally vain; 
Astronomists know nothing that's a stranger to his 

brain ; 
He's as great as Isaac Newton; knows what makes the 

apple fall; 
Wide and varied is the knowledge of the man who 

knows it all. 

If he kept his mass of learning to himself, 'twould all 

be well; 
But he loves to catch a victim and his wisdom to him 

tell. 
When his mortal coil is shuffling and his time has come 

to go, 
Then he'll suffer for the anguish he has caused on earth 

below ; 
For when he comes knocking gently just outside of 

Heaven's gate, 
All the story of his misdeeds to St. Peter I'll relate, 
And the good old saint will shun him; rapid then will 

be his fall 
To the place prepared by Satan for the man who knows 

it all. 

— 147 — 



A NEW YEAR GIFT 

A young lawyer sat in his office — his name 

Never mind ; if I'd give it perhaps he'd be miffed ; 
When unto the door just before him there came 

A knock, while the latch it did silently lift; 
'Twas a bundle a boy brought, of gigantic size 
(The pack, not the boy) — to the young lawyer's eyes, 
There came such a glad look of flattered surprise, 
For in every respect it seemed a nice gift. 

He opened it ; a couple of shoes came to hand, 
And as consort of rubbers a very fine pair; 
You never could find in this beautiful land 

Such footgear as these, I am ready to swear; 
The rubbers had long ago gone to the bad, 
The shoes, they were rusty and careworn and sad, 
And holes in their bottoms the both of them had, 
Though in other respects they were fitting to wear. 

At the very next dive did a good hat appear. 

It was blackened with dirt and a straw tile at that, 
The relic, no doubt, of some far-agone year. 

With a blank in the place where the crown should 
be "at;" 
And the young lawyer's features grew surly and grim; 
To begin with, the cady by no means fit him, 
And besides, there was left but a small bit of brim — 

But in other respects 'twas a pretty nice hat. 

The next grope, of breeches brought up a fine pair, 
The recent discard of some hobo, perchance; 

It was awful to hear that young counselor swear 
And Bbny'd have quailed 'fore his terrible glance; 

One leg of the trousers had wandered agley, 

A large void appeared where the bosom should be, 

— 148 — 



The color in spots didn't seem to agree — 

But in other respects 'twas a fine pair of pants. 

Then a collar and necktie came up to the light ; 

I really don't think it my duty to tell 
What the young lawyer said at their woebegone plight; 

Suffice it to say that his words came pellmell ; 
The things off to deck some scarecrow should be sent; 
The necktie was greasy and very much rent, 
The collar was ragged and limber and bent — 

Though in other respects they would do very well. 

Then the young lawyer rose with a frown on his face, 

And his eyes a most fiendish glare had, 
He kicked the said bundle straight out of his place, 

While he muttered, "He is a most treacherous cad 
The fellow who sent such a package to me, 
And I'd kill him, the wretch ! if I knew who was he," 
And he scowled in a way it was dreadful to see — 

Though in other respects he wasn't so mad. 

A CHRISTMAS SOLILOQUY 

"Old Santa makes his presence felt about this time of 
year," 
And his eyes upon his new tile fondly dwelt; 
"For straw hats in December would, indeed, be very 
queer, 
And so the old man makes his presents felt." 

PROM A VICTIM 

Upon his flattened pocketbook, 
That did just like a pancake look, 

With sorrowed mien he gazed, 
And said, as downward dropped a tear: 
"Christmas comes but once a year — 

For which the Lord be praised !" 

— 149 — 



TO THE VISITING MIIJTABY 

To our royal King submissive, 
Bowing to his sceptered sway, 

Come the soldiers brave from Boston, 
Albany and Iowa. 

With the blare and crash of trumpets, 
Shriek of fife and sound of drum, 

Marching in a grand procession, 
See the Northern warriors come. 

Welcome to you, gallant soldiers, 

Welcome to the noble band, 
Not the welcome that we gave you, 

Long ago, to Dixie land. 

You remember, don't you, soldiers, 
Our warm welcome years ago, 

With a storm of shell and bullets, 
Meeting them as foe and foe. 

Now the past is all forgotten, 
For us all but one flag waves, 

North and South, all rancor buried, 
O'er their slaughtered soldiers' graves. 

And the greting we now give you, 
Is that of kinsmen, warm and true; 

We are all, as fellow subjects, 
Rendering Rex our homage due. 

Welcome to the land of sunshine, 
Welcome each succeeding year ; 

May you bring back to your firesides 
Pleasant thoughts of Southern cheer. 

— 150 — 



THE CARNIVAL 

Now the merry masking time, 
With its jingle and its rhyme 
And its swelling upward chime 
Of the bells in cadence sweet 
As they melodies repeat; 
Now the sound of rushing feet, 
And the voices raised to greet 
Passing comrades on the street. 
Prudence, Care, are thrown away; 
Heedless Folly holdeth sway; 
Tis a time to laugh and play, 
Selves to deck with garlands gay, 
And from wisdom's path to stray; 
Hip hurray and hip hurray, 
Carnival is but a day. 
Hear the merry rum-a-dum 
Of the loud and noisy drum, 
As a crowd of maskers come; 
Here the savage Indian yells; 
There the Nun her pater tells; 
Here the clownish laughter wells; 
Not a thought of the to-morrow, 
Not a thought of care or sorrow. 
This is but a time of joy, 
Gladness pure, without alloy; 
Naught to-day that can annoy, 
Happiness for man and boy, 
Woman old and maiden coy. 
What a sound of cheerful cries ! 
What a glint of sparkling eyes, 
Through the envious masks' disguise! 
Laughter careless, gay, and free! 
Laughter born of reckless glee ! 
Laughter full of jollity! 

— 151 — 



What a mad and joyous rout 

Out and in and in and out, 

All around the town about ! 

Gone is trouble, gone is care; 

Happiness is in the air; 

Let the far to-morrow bear 

Of heartaches its fullest share, 

But to-day will only wear 

Dress of gladness everywhere. 

Sound the trumpet, blow the fife; 

Banish every earthly strife; 

This and only this is life. 

Let the day in frolic pass, 

Not a trouble to harass, 

While each laddie and each lass 

Mingle in the rushing mass. 

Beggar, bishop, billionaire, 

Working girl and heiress fair, 

In the helter-skelter pair, 

All a mad, exultant throng, 

Full of laughter, full of song, 

Dancing gaily all day long. 

What though fields are brown and sere 

With the winter cold and drear, 

And the treetops' summer gear 

Lifeless lies upon the mere ! 

Joy, and naught but joy are here. 

What though winter's bitterness 

Strips the oak trees' summer dress ! 

We but happy thoughts confess. 

What though old Jack Frost may fling 

Iron bands round everything! 

What though birds have taken wing ! 

We our joyful songs will sing, 

Let the chorus gladly ring. 

Though the next day may bring back 

Faces sombre, garments black, 

— 152 — 



Wait until to-day has gone, 
Wait until the eastern dawn 
Tell us that the morrow's born, 
Ere such thoughts we dwell upon. 
Let the trumpets loudly bray, 
Let the cornet sweetly play, 
Let us folly's call obey, 
All too soon 'twill fade away; 
Make the most of glad to-day. 
Now the sound of music's heard 
Sweeter than the song of bird ; 
Now we hear the sound of drums 
As the glittering pageant comes ! 
Swells the music high and higher; 
Gorgeous knight and gay esquire, 
Clad in robes of varied hue, 
Slowly come within the view. 
Hear the steady measured tread 
Of the soldiers placed ahead. 
Here comes Rex, our gracious King 
Hear the shouts of welcome ring. 
Our liege lord, we welcome thee 
From thy travels o'er the sea. 
At his feet each subject bows, 
Breathing o'er his loyal vows. 
Kind in manner, true in heart, 
Graciousness' counterpart, 
Thou a despot never art. 
Now behold the glittering train; 
See each horse's flowing mane; 
Hear the band's resounding strain, 
Falling now to rise again 
Hurrahs sound from every hand 
Where the crowd assembled stands ; 
Rex has come back to the land, 
Back again from foreign strand; 
And the cry from myriad throats 

— 153 — 



Legiance to his rule denotes, 
Sterner man and gentler sex 
Welcome home their worshiped Rex. 
Subjects loyal, brave and true, 
O'er his pathway garlands strew, 
As the gentle monarch's due, 
And their fealty renew. 
Now the sun has sunk to rest 
In the bosom of the West. 
Bowing to our lord's behest, 
Let us to the ballroom's glare ; 
We will find our sovereign there 
With his gracious Queen so rare 
And her waiting ladies fair. 
What a scene of wild delight ! 
Grand kaleidoscopic sight, 
'Neath the soft and mellow light ! 
Voices ring out on the night. 
Glances shy from eyes so bright 
To the whirling waltz invite. 
See the dancers as they go 
Here and there and to and fro, 
To the music's ryhthmic flow. 
Hear the whispers soft and low 
Passed twixt maid and gallant beau, 
Seeking each one's heart to know. 
Joy is truly unconfined, 
Real life is left behind, 
Cares are to the winds consigned. 
This is but illusion's land, 
And the guests a Brownie band, 
That too soon must fade away. 
With the coming of the day 
Back must go each dancing fay 
In its woodland dell to play; 
Back must go each elf and gnome 
To its far-off mountain home, 

— 154 — 



There a twelvemonth more to roam. 
See the softly breaking light 
Chase afar the shades of night, 
While up from the Orient 
Comes the primal day of Lent. 
Let us hence ere from the sky, 
With severe and piercing eye, 
Sol reproaches us on high; 
Let us then from Folly fly 
Unto stern Reality. 



BE FOURT* AND DE FIFT* 

Hurrah for the Fourth! — (Say, doctor, I beg 

You to go a bit slow with that wound in my leg) — 

The glorious Fourth, when our forefathers saw — - 

(The courtplaster's falling, I think, from my jaw) — 

The bright sun of Freedom in joyousness rise — 

(In a week I'll recover the sight of my eyes? 

Much obliged to you, doc) — o'er the downtrodden 

land. — 
(Please put some more salve on that burn on my hand) — 
And their bright blades leapt forward, their vengeance 

to wreak — 
(I won't use that right arm, you say, for a week?) — 
On the tyrant and bravely the lifeblood to shed 
Of the minions — (look out for that cut in my head) 
Led 'gainst our brave soldiers by Burgoyne and Howe — 
(Will these powder specks always remain in my brow?) 
Hurrah for the glorious Fourth — (Well, by gum! 
I've just now discovered I'm minus a thumb), 
But what's that to a patriot as ardent as I, 
So hip, hip, hurrah, for the Fourth of July! 

— 155 — 



VALEDICTORY 

Old year, good-bye ! No anguished cry 

From sorrowed breasts upstarting, 
No tear-dimmed eye, no heartwrung sigh, 

Accompanies thy parting. 
For, lo ! whilst thou departest now, 

'Mid sounds of joybells' ringing, 
O'er land and sea, o'er lake and lea 

Another year comes winging. 

There beameth far on high a star 

Within the dome of Heaven, 
That yestermorn was not yet born — 

The star of Ninety-seven. 
So wondrous bright its lambent light, 

Through worlds of ether gleaming. 
No darkened space surrounds the place 

Where erstwhile thou wert beaming. 

One year agone, when thou wert born, 

Thy head was held as proudly ; 
Thou earnest in amid the din 

Of bells that rang as loudly; 
Thy newborn light shone just as bright, 

That all the world might heed thee; 
But now thy day has passed away. 

And another must succeed thee. 

Let, therefore, now, no angry brow 

Unto thine ire bear witness; 
Thou'rt but about to carry out 

The plan of Nature's fitness ; 
'Tis ever so on earth below 1 — « 

Each year grows less and lesser, 
Till, mission through, it gives place to 

Its preordained successor. 

-156- 



AT THE MASKED BALL 

Joy without measure ! 

Bright lighted hall! 
Gay scenes of pleasure ! 

Masquerade ball! 
If my wife knew I 

Was there, there'd be fun- 
How that bright blue eye 

Beams me upon. 

Still is it glancing 

Coyly at me ; 
Fair owner dancing — 

Who can she be? 
Think I will ask her — 

Break the suspense; 
Since she is a masker, 

Can't take offense. 

Now she is seated 

Quite at her ease ; 
Not over-heated — 

"Next polka, please?" 
Charmer bows kindly; 

Shy upward glance ; 
Now we're off blindly 

Into the dance. 

Polka is over — 

Sweet dream of bliss ! 
I try to discover 

Name of the miss. 
Ripples of laughter, 

Carelessly free; 
"Just wait until after a 

While, and you'll see." 

— 157 — 



In the grounds walking ; 

Stars shine above- 
Tenderly talking, 

Talking of love, 
Faintly comes flowing 

Music's sweet strain — 
Passion is throwing 

"Round me its chain." 

Sweet scents perfuming 

Come from the miss — 
Boldly presuming; 

"Love, but one kiss/' 
Once more the laughter 

Comes through the mask; 

"Just wait till after a 

While, and then ask." 
********* 

Girls all unmasking; 

Mine does the same- 
No need for asking, 

Now what's her name. 
Smiles she so sweetly, 

Ghastly I look; 
Knocked out completely — 

Mask is my cook. 

THE FOURTH OF JULY 

Fling wide to the breezes that flag whose unfurling 

O'er the heads of our fathers a century gone, 
Told the tale to the world of a tyrant's down-hurling, 

Of a star freshly risen, of a nation new-born; 
Whose folds, o'er the breadth of our continent streaming, 

Bring the tear of thanksgiving to patriot eye 
For the sword that leapt forward, all eager and gleaming 

To defend the flag raised on the Fouth of July. 

-158- 



No need to repeat now the soul-thrilling story, 

Marked by whistling of bullet and bursting of shell, 
Of that nigh hopeless struggle for country and glory, 

From the ride of Revere until Cornwallis fell ; 
No need to dwell on that sad time in the valley, 

When our soldiers' bare feet left the blood on the sod, 
Or each crushing defeat, or each heroic rally, 

Or the hopes often raised and as often downtrod. 

No need to recall that long, glorious roster 

Of heroes inspired by Liberty's breath, 
Who gallantly answered each roll call and muster, 

And swore to live free or as martyrs seek death ; 
Nor of how the stern veterans whom England tyrannic 

Hurled 'gainst our brave ranks were as often hurled 
off— | 
'Twas the fight of a pigmy 'gainst forces Titanic, 

With the sword of the Lord on the side of the dwarf. 

To-day, o'er our country, from ocean to ocean, 

From Mexico's Gulf to Canada's line, 
Let us gladly renew all those vows of devotion 

Our ancestors uttered at Liberty's shrine ; 
Let our minds contemplate, and with just exultation, 

That thrice sacred day of America's birth, 
When the breath of life came to the glorious nation 

That now leads the van of the powers of earth. 

From the towns of the East, from each Southern 
savannah, 

From the mounts of the West, from the forests of 
Maine, 
Let our voices uprise in a heartfelt hosannah 

Unto Him whom our fathers besought not in vain ; 
Let each unbearded youth and each grandfather hoary 

Alike render thanks to Jehovah on high, 
That the flag still floats o'er us, in all of its glory, 

That our ancestors raised on the Fourth of July. 

— 159 — 



AN APOLOGY FOR THE FOURTH 

Dear Lords, upon our bended knee, while all around the 

rabble 
Are shouting loud for "Liberty" and such like vulgar 

babble, 
We ask of thee, with downcast brow, dear Lords, to 

please not blame us 
For the men who raised that ancient row, and whom 

the mob call famous. 

Our fathers did, in that dark time, some things they 

hadn't oughter; 
They slew your sires — O awful crime! — and shed their 

blood like water; 
They made your King a laughing stock, they licked 

your troops like thunder; 
At Clinton and Burgoyne did mock, and made Lord 

Howe knock under. 

But, dearest Lords, 'twas not our fault ; for had we then 

been living, 
We would have called them to a halt and made them 

ask forgiving; 
We would have made them pay the tax; 'twere best to 

make a waiver 
Of so-called rights than do such acts, and lose your 

Lordships' favor. 

And we have tried so hard since then to show regret 

and sorrow 
For the sins of those misguided men. From you our 

styles we borrow; 
We ape your ties in fond delight, in pants you set our 

fashion, 
And to worship all that's English quite is e'er our ruling 

passion. 

— 160 — 



No matter what your past may be, when you come o'er 

the Waters, 
We're always glad to give to thee the pick of our fair 

daughters ; 
We're proud of honor thus they get, and reck not how 

you treat 'em. 
We send our yachts across and let his Royal Highness 

beat 'em. 

And, therefore, Lords, we ask of you, in bassos and in 

trebles, 
Don't visit on our faithful few the crimes of those old 

rebels. 
Rest quite assured it gives us pain — this trait'rous 

jubilation; 
And with great reverence, we remain, THE SNOBS' 

ASSOCIATION. 



OUR NATAL DAY 

The Fourth is a great institution, which the same I shall 

never deny; 
My Jack's arm is done up in plaster, and Tommy is 

blind of an eye; 
Frank tried to shoot a toy pistol, and sent the ball right 

through his ear; 
Jim shot his foot with a musket, and is crippled for 

many a year; 
Mat shot a load from his cannon, and the powder got 

into his face; 
While fingers and thumbs and pieces of flesh are lying 

all over the place — 
But, still, despite all of these drawbacks, there's no one 

more loyal than I ; 
And the Fourth is a great institution, which same I shall 

never deny. 

— 161 — 



APRIL FOOI/S DAY 

Just a little pocketbook 

Lying on the street, 
Bearing such a guileless look, 

Tied around so neat. 

Just a dude with flashy pants, 

Silken vest and tie — 
Looks at pocketbook askance, 

Grins and passes by. 

Just a maid with golden hair 

Tripping on so gay — 
Sees the wallet lying there ; 

Smiles and goes her way. 

Just a negro gray and old, 
Born "afore de wah" — 

Sees the book and won't be sold ; 
Passes with guffaw. 

Just a lazy errand boy, 

Slowly passing by — 
Sees the book inviting, coy, 

Winks the other eye. 

Just a greenhorn countryman, 
Dressed in suit of drab — 

Gives the book a searching scan, 
Makes a hurried grab. 

Just no April joke at all; 

Just two hundred cool — 
Just a purse some one let fall — 

Who's the April Fool? 

— 162 — 



WHERE THE WORM TURNED 

At Christmas time she'd set her heart upon a sealskin 
cloak, 
Yet when he came home and plead impecuniosity, 
Though the blow was very heavy and her young heart 
nearly broke, 
She forgave him with a woman's generosity. 

Then came February Fourteenth, and she thought she'd 
surely get 
A Valentine as a token of affection; 
But he told her he was "busted," and though she felt 
sorry, yet 
Her steadfast love knew nothing of defection. 

Next her birthday came on swiftly, and she got the 
same old song 
Of how debts and obligations sorely pressed him, 
That he could give her nothing; and though sadly she 
did long 
For a dress, yet she forgave him and caressed him. 

But when Easter was approaching, and a few short 
days before, 
He said he could afford no Easter bonnet, 
Then the camel's back grown weak beneath the heavy 
load it bore, 
Broke with this last cruel straw he'd placed upon it. 

And she said in outraged womanhood, that if she failed 
to get 
An Easter bonnet, there'd be no forgiving; 
That she'd stood his former rackets, but would stand 
no more, you bet, 
And that she would make his life scarce worth the 
living. 

— 163 — 



So he soon came off his perch so high, and very meekly 
bought 
A bonnet, one whose beauties did enmesh her; 
For he dreaded the tongue-lashing that he'd otherwise 
have caught, 
And he knew he'd be too weak to stand the pressure. 



ST. VALENTINE'S DAY 

To-morrow's the day of St. Valentine gay, 

And the thought in this bosom of mine, 
Is to what female friend shall I lovingly send 

This sweet-scented, gilt valentine. 
Let's see! There is Belle, and the stately Estelle, 

And Clare, with the eyes of the dove ; 
But which of the three will care most tenderly 

For my poor little token of love? 

Fair Belle will look hard at the picturesque card, 

And wonder how much it has cost ; 
Or else, in the sum that unto her will come, 

Unnoticed my gift will be lost. 
Estelle, in her pride, will just shove it aside, 

As she daintily takes off her glove, 
To pick up the one which the rich banker's son 

Has sent, with his heart's offered love. 

But Clare, little Clare, with the bonny brown hair, 

Will press the card close to her breast, 
While the glad tears will rise to the tender blue eyes, 

Where the lovelight lies half unconfessed. 
So not to Estelle, nor to coquettish Belle, 

Shall I send this sweet missive of mine; 
But fond little Clare, with the innocent air, 

Shall be my own dear Valentine. 

— 164 — 



'TWIXT HEART AND STOMACH 

Next Sunday is Easter; I must send her a card. 

How much is that pretty one there? 
One sixty ? Gee whiz ! The times are too hard, 

And such an amount I can't spare. 

I've got but two dollars for seven days ; 

So, fair card, I can't purchase you — 
But still, it's so pretty — a Cupid who plays 

'Mongst the roses all covered with dew. 

Then, again, one and sixty's an awful big lot 

Of stuff for a poor man to give. 
As I've said, two simoleons is all that I've got, 

And, hang it, a fellow must live. 

But then, it's so pretty, I can't let it stay; 

How 'twould bring the glad flush to her cheek. 
How happy — here, wrap this card up right away — 

Yours truly will starve through the week. 

A NEW YEAR PLEDGE 

To-day's the day to do it, so I'll swear off — but from 

what? 
I can't quite quit the ceaseless smoking habit that I've 

got, 
Because I'm very fond of good cigars and smoke a lot, 
And to forego Havanas is a thing that I cannot. 

Well, then, I'll swear off something — but, hang it! 

swear off what? 
I can't swear off from poker, for I love a stiff jackpot. 
I can't swear off from drinking, for, though not at all 

a sot, 

-165- 



If there's one thing that I relish most, that one thing 
is a "bot." 

But, still, it's all the fashion; and I'll swear off, then, 

from — what ? 
Why, I'll swear off from almsgiving, for such things 

I care not a jot; 
I'll swear off sending folks away when summer groweth 

hot, 
And from buying bonnets for my wife, 'twill suit me to 

a dot. 

I never play the races, so I'll swear off on the spot 
From gambling on the horses when they gallop, pace and 

trot ; 
I can't let go from vices which I have (they're quite a 

lot), 
So I'll swear off from habits which I know I haven't got. 

CAUSE FOR INDIFFERENCE 

She stands before me, winsome, fair, 

With flowing locks of brownest hair, 

With eyes like Heaven's azure blue, 

And cheeks that shame the poppy's hue; 

She smiles at me, this dainty miss ; 

Her lips seem asking me to kiss ; 

No kith or kin of mine is she, 

No sister, daughter, wife, to me; 

Still, I do not believe I'd care 

To kiss those ruby lips so fair, 

Or hold that form within my arms, 

Despite her manifold charms, 

Despite the invitation free 

She seems to offer — for, you see, 

This lovely girl, this maid divine, 

Is pictured on a valentine. 

— 166 — 



HE HAD BEEN THERE BEFORE 

Take him up carefully, not with a pull ; 
Watch o'er him prayerfully — young and so full. 
Once was he jolly, joyous his tone; 
Now melancholy calls him her own. 
Once he sang brightly all of the day, 
And the sky nightly rang with his lay ; 
Now he's downhearted, chockfull of care, 
Joy has departed into the air. 

Once was he smiling, smiling with glee; 
Trouble beguiling with laughter so free; 
Now is he gloomy, every day tight; 
Life, once so bloomy, is darker than night. 
Gone is all pleasure out of his life; 
Peace beyond measure gives 'way to strife. 
Now he goes muttering all over town; 
Strangest words uttering, face in a frown. 

Did his girl shake him? All his folks die? 
Cyclone o'ertake him ? What gives his eye 
Such a look of horror? Why does he drink? 
Drowning what sorrow — what woes to sink? 
Alas, sir, the reason making him sigh 
Is this: the season of house-cleaning's nigh. 
Hence the pain numbing, hence the hair gray; 
He dreads the coming of First Day of May. 

THE DAY WE CELEBRATE 

Now once again, 'mid summer heats, the gladsome time 

has come 
Of soaring rockets, giant wheels and loud-exploding 

bombs, 
Of hero worship, loyal zeal, and patriotic glee, 
Of declarations loud about "The Land of Liberty." 

— 167 — 



We'll hear again the chestnut tales of the great old hero, 

George, 
And the hardships that the army saw that time at Valley 

Forge; 
Of how we licked the Britishers and ran the Hessian foe, 
And how we set our country free, so many years ago. 

Now doth the busy druggist's heart grow gladsome, 
blithe and gay, 

At thoughts of all the heavy sales of lint and arnica; 

The surgeon's heart is likewise cheered at orders he will 
get 

To come and sew up Tommy's wound and Jimmy's knee- 
cap set. 

The overflowing jails will swell with all the mass of 

flesh 
Belonging to the "simple drunks" caught in the "peeler's" 

mesh ; 
And when the day is finally o'er we'll heave a thankful 

sigh 
That only once a year doth come the great Fourth of 

July. 



JUST ABOUT THIS TIME 

What's that most unearthly racket and that awful 

smashing sound? 
Has a load of Sevres chinaware been dropped upon the 

ground ? 
Oh, no; the sound of crashing that comes to your ear 

that way 
Comes from breaking of the pledges that were made on 

New Year's Day. 

— 168 — 



WITH REFERENCE TO A TURKEY 

Which my wife said as how 
It were better to buy 
A turkey just now 
Than to wait until nigh 
Thanksgiving, for then, she opined, the price would 
have riz pretty high. 

So the biped it came; 
By Gosh! If you'd see 
The ravishing same, 
You'd imagine how we 
Awaited the joyful occasion when our teeth would be 
meeting in he. 

As plump as a ball 
Of butter, or lard, 
Was the turk, and withal 
So rounded and hard, 
That I'm free to confess that the critter held a torrid 
place in my regard. 

And, Lord ! how he ate ! 
And how he did thrive ! 
We'd all congregate 
Around him at five 
Every morn — a thief after that turkey, if we'd caught 
him, we'd skin him alive. 

So the lovely thing grew, 
And time it rolled on 
(As time it will do) 
Till the bill for the corn 
For that bird would have stocked a large farmyard, as 
I said to the madam one morn. 

— 169 — 



Still, I didn't care, 
S'long's he got fat, 
And none, I'd declare, 
But a miserly rat, 
Would have grudged to spend a large fortune on a 
beautiful object like that. 

So he swelled in a way 
'Twas delightful to see, 
Till the sizable jay 
Was so splendid that he 
Would have served for a regiment's dinner, as I also 
informed Mrs. C. 

But on Thanksgiving morn, 
When we went to the shed 
To bid him good-by 
Ere upon him we fed, 
Why, blankety blank to blanknation, the pesky old var- 
mint was dead. 



OVERHEAD ORISONS 

She was a shining star in what is styled "select so- 
ciety ;" 
Was a bud of brilliant beauty, and every ball a belle; 
But she also was possessed of a profundity of piety, 
And tales about her tender grace a thousand friends 
would tell. 

I landed at her lovely home one evening late in Lenten; 

I tripped into the parlor, and I saw this treasure 

there ; 

She hadn't heard me walking, and so, warily, I went in, 

Perceiving by her pensive pose the pure maid was at 

prayer. 

— 170 — 



A dreamy look was in her eyes — a look of deep de- 
votion ; 
Her form was bending forward, and upon her fault- 
less face 
Was a meek and mild expression, and her melting lips 
in motion — 
Presenting such a pious sight, I, silent, kept my place. 

Then, with a wanton wish to know for what the maid 
was praying, 
Though I knew 'twas wrong for me to think of such 
a thing 'as that, 
I sloped forward very slightly, and soon heard what 
she was saying: 
"Oh ! pshaw ! next Sunday's Easter, and I haven't got 
a hat !" 

A CHRISTMAS CAROL 

Hurrah for the Christmas, the jolly old Christmas, 
The Christmas that comes at the close of the year! 

When rubiant Kringle, with ringle and jingle 
Among us doth mingle, and brings to us cheer. 

With its dolls and its toys for the girls and the boys, 

And its trumpets that blow and its guns that make noise.. 

When nothing alloys the glad infantile joys — 
Hurrah for the Christmas that soon will be here ! 

Hurrah for the Christmas, the jolly old Christmas, 

The Christmas of mirth, and of laughter and play; 
When Santa comes winging and joybells are ringing 

And choristers singing their welcoming lay. 
With a rum-a-dum-dum of the verberant drum, 
And the stockings piled high with the candy and gum ; 
When not unto some, but to all, there does come 
A joy that brings smiles to the countenance grum, 
Be it framed in a palace or sunk in a slum — 
Hurrah for the Christmas a few days away. 

— 17! — 



CHRISTMAS THOUGHTS 

So Christmas time is coming ; let's see what I must do ; 
I must buy a hat for brother Tom, a cloak for sister 

Sue, 
A pair of earrings for my wife; and for my ma-in-law 
I must get something sure as fate, or else I'll hear her 

jaw. 
A rattle for the baby, a gun for nephew Jack, 
And grandpa'll want a brandnew pipe, and grandma'll 

want a sacque; 
My mother'll want a new silk dress, or else to me won't 

speak — 
Now what's a fellow going to do on dollars ten a week? 

They'll kick, too, for a grand old feed, as sure as I'm 
alive ; 

They'll want a great big turkey — that's a dollar forty- 
five; 

They'll want it stuffed with chestnuts (I'll get the Lon- 
don Punch) ; 

For mince and pumpkin pies they'll kick, of grapes 
they'll want a bunch; 

A big fruit cake, some oranges and apples red and fine, 

All sorts of nuts, and I suppose they'll want some high- 
priced wine. 

To set my foot down and say no, alas ! I am too meek — 

And yet how can I buy all these on dollars ten a week? 

To a fellow who has lots of glue, his Christmas gifts 

to buy 
It's all right, but it's mighty tough on a man as poor 

as I. 
If I could make the calendar for every future year, 
You bet December Twenty-fifth on it would not appear. 
Old Santa Claus, the grayhaired rouge, of whom each 

young one sings, 

— 172 — 



Is the reprobate who's brought about this woeful state 

of things; 
And if I meet him on the streets, I'll slap his denied 

old cheek, 
For bringing Christmas to the man who gets but ten a 

week. 

A PUZZLE TO TOMMY 

I dearly love the Christmas time, when Santa Claus 

comes down, 
With rosy cheeks and snowy beard and long and furry 

gown, 
And bearing on his dear old back all sorts and kinds 

of toys 
To give away for nothing to the little girls and boys, 
With tops and drums -and dolls and trains, and all the 

other things 
That every Christmas in his bag the good old fellow 

brings ; 
But there's one thing that puzzles me in quite an awful 

way; 
Poor papa always says he's "broke," 

just 
after 

Christmas 

Day. 

Now, "broke" means when you've got no money in your 

pocket, and 
Though I've tried hard to work it out, I just can't 

understand 
Why papa should be in that fix around the Christmas, 

'cause 
He surely saves an awful lot through dear old Santa 

Claus. 
Why, think of all the money that he'd have to spend for 

toys 

— 173 — 



If there weren't any Santa Claus for little girls and 

boys ; 
And so, since papa hasn't got a single cent to pay 
I can't see why he's always "broke," 

just 
after 

Christmas 

Day. 

A STRATAGEM 

"False one, farewell ! I saw you kiss 

Last evening, at your door, another. 
And writhing serpents seemed to hiss 

Around my brain — I seemed to smother 
'Neath world's of woe; within my breast 

Each heartstring did in anguish sever, 
So, since you love my rival best, 

I leave thee, cruel flirt, forever." 

'Twas thus I wrote her — well I knew 

The man in question was her brother, 
And that to me she is so true 

Her heart would ne'er lean to another ; 
But, though the thing was durned unpleasant, 

As Christmas time is nearing now, 
And I just can't afford a present, 

I had to break with her somehow. 

Of course, a letter will come speeding 

To set aright her darling Jack, 
And which will prove delightful reading, 

She'll be so wild to get me back; 
I'll answer, at her falsehood railing, 

She'll write again, and when at last 
We've smoothed it out and all's clear sailing, 

Why, Christmas will have safely passed. 

— 174 — 



A FEW THINGS ABOUT THE ALPHABET 

A is the craziest letter; 'tis always in-sane — and the 

worst 
Is the B, for you'll find that in bloodshed, the same is 

forever the first; 
Still, C is not very much better; in crime does it every 

time lead; 
And D's just as bad; 'tis always on hand at the begin- 
ning and end of the deed. 
E from its birth was affluent, and to live in ease never 

has ceased, 
While F is the leader in fashion and the first at a frolic 

or feast. 
G is the foremost in glory, and in gallantry plays the 

chief role, 
While H, most unfortunate fellow ! is all of the time 

in a hole. 
In ignorance and filth doth the I live, and remonstrances 

have no avail 
To curb the J's lawbreaking habits, for he always is 

lying in jail. 
K is the first one in kicking; and perhaps it would be 

just as well 
If the L had never existed, for 'tis now in the extreme 

of h— 1. 
With M we'd forever lose music, nor would we have 

money to pay 
For pleasure; and unto temptation, without N we could 

never say ''nay." 
O is found in all crookedness, and from politics cannot 

refrain ; 
And the P must have been a great sinner, for 'tis now 

in both penance and pain. 
O is a curious creature, and in quarrels doth always ap- 
pear; 

— 175 — 



And if it, with R, leader in riots, should depart, 'twould 

not cause us a tear. , 

Were it not for the S we'd know nothing of sorrow, of 

sin, or of shame, 
While the T is the bete noir of heroes, for it maketh 

their fame become tame. 
U is a hardworking letter; 'tis always in use, as we see, 
And the V liveth in every venture, though in vain may 

the enterprise be. 
W is forever getting in the way, human temper to vex, 
And its follower is "ten"derly cared for, for who doesn't 

worship an "X?" 
Y is a singular fellow, for which reason he never is Ys, 
And the Z, though behind all its brethren, yet cuts quite 

a figure in size. 

And thus any curious observer, as he downward from 

A to Z goes, 
Will find each particular letter some very strange quality 

shows. 



FINANCIAL ITEM 

The alphabet's as hard up as 'most any one could be. 
The a and b and c, likewise, are all in bankruptcy f 
The d and e are both in debt, while poor old f and g 
Are entirely out of money, which brings them misery. 
The h and i are in the sheriff's hands — ain't that a 

shame ? 
In funds the j is never found, the k is much the same. 
In a financial muddle are the 1 and poor old m, 
The n and o in-solvent — what will become of them? 
The p and q are in a queer pecuniary way; 
While mixed up in the courts are r, s, t, n, I've heard say. 
No news from t'other letters of the alphabet I've had. 
But without knowing, I dare say their fix is quite as bad. 



176 



ALPHABETICAL PREFERENCES 

The graduate from high school has his S. A. as we see, 
The bankrupt debtor has his O, the old maid sticks 
to T; 
The antiquarian likes D. K., the Indian loves T. P., 
The man who doesn't care to work likes something 
that's E. Z. 
The sharper dearly loves the J, the bard loves L. E. G. 
(En passant, so do baldheaded men) ; the sailor sticks 
to C; 
The parson's fond of W, because it brings a fee, 

While men who're stout are much inclined unto O. 
B. C. T. 

TO THE LETTER "R" 

"Now once again the days have come, the saddest of the 

year" — > 
(Oh! no; that isn't what I mean; I'm running off my 

gear), 
I mean the days have come again, the gladdest of the 

year, 
When we can eat the oyster sweet and wash it down 

with beer. 

What though the festive lager during summer was our 

own? 
Though lager is a drink for gods, it's not at best alone ; 
And patiently we've waited till September did appear, 
So that we could oysters eat again, together with good 

beer. 

Then blessed art thou, thou symbol grand of peace and 

happiness ! 
And blessed the happy months that do thy presence sweet 

confess ! 

— 177 — 



Thou art of all the alphabet the letter best by far; 
Thou soul-inspiring, most divine, and woe-dispelling "R." 

AS TO THE Y. 

In these days of the new fashion, when the "Y" is used 

so much, 
And we hear of all the Jennyes and the Alyses and such, 
Let us sing aloud the praises of the damsel fair whose 

name 
Is Mollie or Maria, and who sticks unto the same. 

It really is a habit that we can't too much condemn, 
This changing of the Christian names their parents gave 

to them; 
If it served a useful purpose, then I wouldn't kick a bit, 
But if there is rhyme or reason in the same, I can't 

see it. 

Exactly Y they do it, I'm unable to surmise; 

Perhaps they think the constant use of Y will make 

them Ys; 
If that is their endeavor, then I'm very frank to say, 
It really makes them look as though they're built the 

other way. 

I know lots of Marias who are lovelier by far, 
Than many of the Annyes and the Ethelyndas are; 
And 'cause a girl's named Mollie, there's no reason why 

she can 
Not be as fair as Alys, to the ordinary man. 

The names that they were christened with, have stuck 

to them for years, 
And the changes they now make in them, fall harshly 

on our ears; 
Best await, O girls ! I warn you all, in no uncertain 

tone, 
The altar's alterations — and in your last name alone. 

- I7 8- 



A LETTER TER SAL 

Dere Wife — 

I seen our darter on gradoowashun nite ; 
Et cum off at th' opryhouse — my ! but et wuz er site, 
With th' flowers an' th' bokays piled ten foot frum th' 

flore, 
An' th' biggest krowd uv peepul 'at I ever see afore. 
An' th' big bugs they wuz there, all errigged in full dress 

soots 
With thare swalleytales an' dimuns an' thare pattent 

lether boots, 
An' th' silk an' satin dresses (sum wuz cut too low er 

bit)— 
All ermakin' up er picter 'at I never kin fergit. 

Wall, th' fust of all th' band plade er mity fetchin' air, 
Then th' gals cum in ermarchin' an' they eech wun tuk 

er chare; 
An* rite up in th' frunt row sot our own deer litfo gal, 
All erdrest up in white sattin, an' ef you'd erseen her, 

Sal, 
Yew'd er bin th' prowdest woman in th' kentry fer ter 

see 
How our littel gal sot up there jes' ez scrumshus ez 

cud be; 
An' w'en she hiked down an' smiled at me, yew bet, 

Sal, I wuz glad 
Ter see she warn't er bit ashamed uv her kentryfide of 

dad. 

Wall, th' gals all sed thare peeces, an' then et cum her 

turn, 
She made an orful purty bow ; and et makes my bus- 

zum burn 
W'en I thinks uv all th' cheering, an' th' clappin' uv th' 

han's, 

— 179 — 



An' th' stompin' uv th' feet an' th' wavin' uv th' H\m, 
Wen our gal, our little Mandy, got up there ter recitate 
'Fore all 'at krowd uv peepul, an' yew bet 'at et wuz 

grate, 
All erbout sum gal or uther, what had relucktant feet 
An' what wun day wuz er standin' w'ere th' bruk an' 

rivver meet. 

Yew cud heer er pin erdroppin' w'ile she wuz speekin' 

there, 
But w'en she got threw talkin', igolly, I declare 
She luked so sweet an' luvly, an' dun th' thing so well, 
'At I thawt they'd all go crasy, th' way 'atthey did yell: 
An' yew orter seen th' pressunts an' th' bokays 'at she 

got, 
Wile her old dad's hart wuz thumpin' in th' corner w'ere 

he sot; 
An' w'en all wuz dun an' over, an' she cum out ter my 

chare, 
I swar I culdn't help it, I bust out then an' there. 

An' I cride jes' like er babby; I wuz overflowin', Sal; 
An' I tol* her how her muther wuz erwaitin' fer her gi 1 , 
An' how prowd yew'd all be uv her, yew an' Jim, 'n Si 

'n Jule. 
Wen yew found out all th' larnin, 'at she had got at 

skule. 
An' she's got sum things ter buy yit, an' say gudby ter 

friends, 
Then she's cummin' ter the farm agin, an' luv ter all she 

sends ; 
An' we'll both be hum tergether 'bout th' last day uv th' 

week — 
So no more jes' at present frum 

Yure luvvin' husban' 

ZEKE. 

— -180 — 



ALONG THE BOGUE FALAYA 

Some day I'll take my pen in hand, 

And get my ink and paper out. 
Go sit down somewhere, quiet, and 

I'll then proceed to write about 
The beauties that profusely lie, 

From prelude down to epilogue, 
That glad the heart and please the eye, 

Along the waters of the Bogue. 

I'll write of strolls down woodland ways, 

O'er paths with fragrant pine cones spread. 
Ere Sol has cast his golden rays 

Through leafy arches overhead; 
Of voyages in mornings cool, 

In graceful skiff or light pirogue, 
To find some trout-infested pool 

Along the waters of the Bogue. 

I'll write of pine trees stretching high 

Up through the unresisting air, 
As if they strove to pierce the sky 

And see the God who placed them there; 
Of birds that through the summer days, 

In solo, duet, and triologue, 
Pour forth their souls in gladsome lays, 

Along the waters of the Bogue. 

I'll write of many a shaded dell 

Adown which tender couples stray, 
The old, old tale of love to tell, 

And ever in the same old way, 
While Cupid hovers over, and 

With archness smiles, — the little rogue! — 
To see them press each other's hand, 

Along the waters of the Bogue. 

— 181 — 



I'll write of nights when Luna beams 

Adown on wood and vale and hill, 
And bathes the earth in silver streams 

That make the land seem fairer still 
While all around us everywhere, 

Soft peace and quiet are the vogue, 
And scarce a sound disturbs the air 

Along the waters of the Bogue. 

Yes, as to these and kindred things, 

Some day I'm going to allow 
Pegasus to outspread his wings, 

Although I really wonder how 
My pauper pen can justice do 

To all the endless catalogue 
Of beauties that enchant the view, 

Along the waters of the Bogue. 



THE UN-KY.ND PA 

Said Dr. Del. A. Ware unto Miss Ida Hoe so Ga. ; 
"O, marry Me., sweet Miss., I beg, and my heart's pain 

Ala.; 
I have Tenn. thousand put in stocks and a Mass. of yel- 

Ore.; 
I La. it all down at your feet — what maid could ask for 

Mo.?" 

Said Ida, blushing, "I confess, dear Doctor, I love thee, 
But whether I Kan. be your bride, my Pa. please go 

N. C." 
So with Conn.-fident and jaunty air, and quite resolved 

to win, 
The youth went to the father's room, where the old man 

asked him Minn. 

— 182 — 



The father had been 111. that day, with a sore attack of 

gout, 
And when the youth his Cal. explained, he nearly kicked 

him out. 
He said: "What? Marry you, you scamp! Such gall I 

ne'er did see; 
Io. my girl a better mate than a penniless Md. 

"Your tale of wealth won't Wash. Get out; if e'er I 

catch you N. Y. 
My house, I'll Fla. your worthless skin and lacerate 

your R. I." 
Said Ware: "A way I'l find, I Wis., your unk-Ind.ness 

to e-Va.-de." 
And sure enough they ran away and soon but one were 

made. 



SPRING 

There's a titillant thrill in the ambient air, 

There's a tremulous tint in the sky ; 
There's an echo afloat from the haze over there, 

Where the expectant meadowlands lie. 
The redolent roses in rapture rejoice, 

The lark loudly lilts upon high, 
And even the verecund violet's voice 

Cries out that the springtime is nigh. 

There's a rising refrain from the rollicking rill, 

As it rushes its rushes along, 
While the sturdier stream seems its soul forth to spill 

In sonorous and satisfied song. 
And the winds, as they wantonly wander the wood, 

And through hemlock and holly tree hum, 
Seem in mellowest music and merriest mood, 

To tell us that springtime has come. 



183 



TO THE RIVER 

O Father Mississippi, 

We beg thee to retire; 

Why comest thou, O River! 

In fury and in ire? 

Wherein have we offended 

That thou dost daily rise 

In anger high and higher, 

Before our startled eyes? 

What, Tyrant, was the action 

That has thee so incensed, 

That our. resisting levees 

Thou ragest up against? 

Hast ever found us wanting 

In deference, and when? 

Have we not paid the tribute 

Time, River, and again? 

Thou wanted'st fair Morganza; 

Morganza was thine own — 

Thou asked'st for Bonnet Carre — 

We gave it with a moan; 

Thy glances fell on Nita 

In Ninety-two or Three, 

Thou craved'st likewise fair Belmont- 

We sighed, but gave them thee; 

Thou would'st on Pass a Loutre 

Thy lust for conquest feed — 

We rendered it, reluctantly, 

A victim to thy greed. 

And art thou still unsated? 

Must we still homage pay? 

Or why is it, O Tyrant! 

Thou actest in this way? 

Thou canst not say thou'rt needing 

Another large crevasse 

— 184 — 



To hold thy surging waters, 

That story will not pass, 

For there is room a-plenty 

Out in the Mexic sea 

To hold the many freshets 

That wander down to thee. 

Or can it be thou'rt angry 

With us that we make bold 

To think a levee system 

Thy mighty self can hold? 

Dost simply wish to show us 

Our vaunted banks of mud 

Are like unto a cobweb 

Against thy rising flood? 

If so, then shame, O River: 

That thou should'st bear us spite 

And bring to thousands ruin. 

To merely show thy might ! 

Pass on, O Mississippi! 

Unto the Gulf, O King! 

Would'st rather not have blessings 

Than curses round thee ring? 

Be gen'rous in thy power, 

Thine angry threat'nings cease, 

Relieve this awful pressure, 

And let us live in peace! 



WITH AUTUMN'S COMING 

Comes the falltime, with the whirring 
Of the winds among the trees, 

And the' golden leaflets stirring 
Here and there with every breeze ; 

And the robin redbreast, singing, 
As he circles to the sky, 



185 



Seems a hope of blessings bringing, 
Yonder where the orchards lie. 

Let us leave the pent-up city, 

With its ceaseless crash and whirl, 
And its lack of Christian pity, 

For the place where brooklets purl ; 
Where the peaceful kine are lowing 

In the meadows sweet and green, 
And the flowers wild are growing, 

In fair nature's own demesne. 

Let us turn our weary faces 

From the town's incessant fray, 
And go seek the pleasant places 

In the country far away. 
Where despair is never lurking 

And devouring whom it can; 
Where no man's intent on working 

Utter woe to fellowman. 

Here, the warfare never waneth 

Twixt oppressor and oppressed; 
There, soft peace forever reigneth, 

And the weary are at rest; 
Here the heart is bound with pinions, 

There the songs of freedom ring: 
Here, are mortal man's dominions; 

There, our God alone is King. 

Let us, therefore, gladly wander 

To the country, fresh and green, 
There to idly dream and ponder 

In some simple, sylvan scene; 
There to live 'neath peace's pennant, 

Till we're laid beneath the sod, 
And our frame's immortal tenant 

Seeks a fellowship with God. 

— 186 — 



THE RIVER 

With a rush and a roar, in a furious wrath, 

Comes the Kjing of American rivers; 
Great God ! what a wonderful power he hath ! 
See, see, as he travels his widening path, 

How the countryside trembles and quivers ! 

See, see, the fair towns that he met on his way, 
How he hath in his meshes entwined them 

As he cometh adown in his fearful array! 

"Woe, woe!" in his anger he seemeth to say, 
'To your levees and all that's behind them." 

Hear the sweep and the swirl of his gigantic force, 

That at times is so placid and listless! 
A giant is he at his uttermost source, , 
And the strength that he gains on his torrent-like course 

To the Gulf, makes him well night resistless. 

See the ruin he wrought as he angrily tore 
From the line where he joins with Missouri! 

See the wrecks that bestrew Mississippi's fair shore! 

See the Arkansas farms that are smiling no more, 
Since the tyrant came down in his fury! 

Hear the wild battle songs that ring out to the skies 

From the forces that follow his banner! 
In their devilish laughter and demon-like cries, 
What a world of foreboding and threatening lies 
'Gainst the peace of our own Louisiana ! 

But let's drive off the fear that our bosoms make cold, 

As we gaze on the f oeman so royal ! 
Let us work and assist our brave levees to hold, 
For we'll win in the fight 'gainst this enemy bold, 

If we only are watchful and loyal. 

-187- 



HOW IT WAS FIGURED OUT 

Bob thought his Jane the fairest she beneath the hea- 
ven's sun, 

And how intensely glad he'd be when once her love 
he'd I. 

Her hair was of a golden shade, her eyes of melting 
blue; 

And though quite a coquettish maid, yet she loved Rob- 
ert 2. 

He vowed that though of girls he'd met in his life quite 

3-score, 
Until he'd seen his "little pet" he'd never loved be-4. 

He said: "If 5 won your heart, oh, sweet maid, relieve 

the pain; 
And tell me so in voice whose flow is soft as m-6 strain. 

The thought is 7 unto me that you will be my mate; 
O, say not nay, I beg of thee, and my heart lacer-8." 

Then smiled on him this maid be-9, and to his prayer 

replied : 
"My love's as 10-der, Bob, as thine, and I will be thy 

bride." 

10-TATIVELY 

I love thee 10-derly, O Kate! 
With love in-10-se and true; 
My heart's tree throws a 10-dril out 
That reaches, dear, to you. 

My feelings I do not pre-10-d, 
Nor have I a 10-dency 
To make my heart so 10-sile as 
To cover more than thee. 



io-aciously I cling to thee, 
Nor will I be con-io-t 
Until we two joint io-ants are 
Of the self-same io-ement. 



ON THE TECHE 



Here is "God's country," whose graces inviting, 

Act on the heart as the dew on the rose, 
Life giving to it, the senses delighting 

With the wild beauty that everywhere grows, 
See the wild flowers all over upspringing! 
Hear the bird's notes through the morning air ringing. 
Daintily winging, 
Joyously singing, 
Unto us thoughts of the glad summer bringing. 

Here the red rose and the fair morning-glory 

Sweetest of scents on the gladdened air cast; 
There stand the oak trees, rugged and hoary, 

Scarred with the tempests of centuries past. 
See the green grass on the level ground growing! 
List to the kine there peacefully lowing! 
Gentle creeks flowing, 
All the earth glowing, 
God's handiwork here in everything showing. 

Oh! where is the heart that by crime is so tainted, 
So burdened with woe or so weighted with care, 
As never to joy in the loveliness painted 

On sward and on hill and around everywhere! 
How the breeze blows, to us sweetest scents bearing 
From flowers strewn 'round us by Nature unsparing: 
Naught else comparing 
In beauty ensnaring, 
With the charms that the land of the fair Teche is wear- 
ing. 

-189- 



